


In Love With A King

by Journeying_Jane



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Enchanted Forest (Once Upon a Time), Arranged Marriage, Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Older Man/Younger Woman, Once Upon a Time in Wonderland Characters, Princess Emma Swan, Royal Killian Jones, no magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:24:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 49,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23007871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Journeying_Jane/pseuds/Journeying_Jane
Summary: Crown Princess Emma was 16 when her brother was born, usurping her role. Though her parents always wanted her to find love, her possible contributions to the kingdom narrow into a political marriage; offering herself to strengthen ties and alliances.Now, after several years of trying and failing to find a suitable match, 20-year-old Emma decides on her grandmother's former Kingdom to keep the blood connections between them from dying out. Yet, when Emma arrives things are more complicated than expected and she may find herself falling for the current ruler rather than the heir.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 170
Kudos: 227





	1. Chapter 1

“We’re almost there your highness!” Sir Graham called out from his place just outside the gently rocking carriage. “We should be able to see the Palace from just over this ridge.” Princess Emma of Misthaven lifted her delicate gloved hand to peer through the curtain. The trees around them held a dusting of snow on their green branches, signaling both the altitude and the oncoming winter. The past few days had been spent making their way through the mountain pass that offered the only entrance into Glowerhaven, aside from the sea.

There was something quiet and peaceful about the surroundings and as they reached the crest of the incline she asked to stop. Stepping down from the carriage she breathed in the crisp air and adjusted her fur-lined hood over her blonde curls. All the knights dismounted for a stretch and her lady-in-waiting, Opal disembarked from the other carriage.

Normally Opal would ride with her, but she found herself seeking quiet solitude this journey. Perhaps that was another reason why she felt so inclined to stop here. To soak in the tranquility, the familiarity. The cliffs of the snowy mountain rose up to the left and the pine forest stretched off to the right, a little bit like home, she thought. Both warmth and sadness touching her heart as she remembered her own kingdom-often nicknamed the enchanted forest.

But as much as she wished it, these things couldn’t distract her forever. She breathed deeply once again and stretched before turning her attention toward what lay before them. The view was truly spectacular. As the road winded down the mountain before them, a sprawling valley opened up, evidently in the last fantastic gasp of autumn. Bursts of oranges, scarlets, and golds dotted the faded green and brown landscape, broken up by ribbons of blue winding their way through the valley.

Off in the distance, more snow-capped peaks were barely discernible and to the right, a distant stripe of silver might have been a shoreline. But there, surrounded by ripe farmland lay the light gray stone of Glowerhaven’s palace and it was on this that Emma fixed her gaze.

“Are we within the borders now?” She asked taking in the miniature view of what was surely a towering structure.

“Yes, your highness. You are officially standing in the Kingdom of Glowerhaven.” Sir August reported with pomp and she knew he’d be wearing a cheeky smile. Emma would have normally rolled her eyes and smiled back, but in this moment she just nodded thoughtfully, knawing on her lip. Almost four weeks of travel with the end finally in sight and yet she wasn’t sure if she felt relieved or not.

“How long till we reach it?” She asked again using every ounce of her training to keep a hitch out of her voice.

“Another day at least. We’ll likely not arrive until nightfall tomorrow.” Sir Graham reported. A breath wooshed passed her lips but thankfully went unnoticed as he stepped up beside her. “Although it does depend on our own pace as well. . .” She glanced at him as he trailed off and he cocked an eyebrow. Okay, perhaps not as unnoticed as she’d hoped.

Straightening her shoulders, Emma lifted her chin, assuming the unshakeable air her mother helped her perfect. “Well then,” she smiled gesturing back to the waiting entourage. “Shall we?”

It was as she was holding the carriage door to step up that a twitter caught her ear and she paused, looking over her shoulder at the snowy forest. A red cardinal sat on a nearby branch trilling merrily. It gladdened Emma’s heart to see something so familiar, but as she turned away from the picturesque scene a drop of melancholy slipped in. How long would it be before she could grasp this feeling once again?

*****

Two full days later found them making their way through the town surrounding the palace with all the ceremony expected by the people. Emma had, in the end, wrangled one last night of freedom by requesting multiple stops to view the new land. The King’s men had met them this morning as they broke camp and escorted them the last hour to the palace, heralding her arrival.

So, rather than hide away and cherish her last few moments of solitude, Emma had her curtains drawn back and her most gracious smile on her lips.

“Princess, Princess over here!”

“Look Mommy, it’s a princess!”

“She’s beautiful!”

“Your highness!”

“Our future Queen!”

“Welcome Princess Emma!”

“Lookie there lad, a real princess.”

The cacophony of welcomes, well-wishes, and general comments were a jumble around her and almost drowned out the cry of “Open the gates!”

Emma’s heart and stomach switched places at that moment, she was sure of it. No escape now, though she would never abandon her duty, the reality of arriving at her destiny was frightening.

Before she knew it the procession had stopped and the carriage door was being opened. As she extended her hand to Sir Graham she was keenly aware of the eyes upon her and of the fact that she had slept on the ground last night. Emma pushed the thought away as she stepped lightly down. Opal had done a wonderful job sweeping her hair up into loose bun affixed with her tiara and she’d had her arrival outfit safely stored the entire journey before donning it this morning.

The cream gown and ermine lined cloak settled softly around her as she stood before what appeared to be most of the royal court. Had they nothing better to do mid-morning than watch her arrival?

Chin high and smile still in place, Emma nodded her head graciously. Then with a clearing of a throat her attention was drawn to the man she probably should have been paying attention to and her mouth dropped a fraction. Dark hair streaked with silver and eyes bluer than a forget-me-not distracted her for a moment before she took in the most important detail. The circlet of gold upon his brow.

Her mind stuttered. The King was greeting her himself? Sure Emma’s parents often would welcome their guests personally, but that was Snow White and Prince Charming; not exactly the most traditional of monarchs. In fact, of all the kingdoms Emma had visited in the past three years, this was most certainly a first. However, it did explain the entire court’s presence. Her eyes scanned behind the monarch quickly, tensely searching for a younger man to identify as the heir. If anyone was to greet her, she would have expected her future husband.

“Emma! You are most welcome, Princess. It is with great joy that I get to welcome my great-niece to Glowerhaven, it has been too long since I have had family here.” For the briefest moment, something flickered behind his eyes. “And it is my honor to welcome you to your new home. I trust your journey was not too arduous?” He held out his hand into which she lay hers, giving a graceful curtsy.

“Not at all my King. I find that travel provides ample time for introspection and like my mother before me, I have a taste for adventure and new horizons.” There, she thought as she rose. A diplomatic answer with a personal touch. In her experience, honesty and authenticity won far more hearts than sycophantry. There would always be those who would prefer a mindless princess, but she would always be a disappointment to that set. She worried what type this heir might be? “Thank you for your kind and attentive welcome, Your Majesty. I hardly expected to be graced by your presence so readily. I’m honored.”

“Now, let there be none of that formality between us.” He spoke warmly pressing her hand. “Come let us get you settled in and allow you and your men to refresh yourselves after these long weeks on the road.” Then releasing her hand he turned to offer his arm instead. “If you’ll allow me to escort you?”

Emma’s eyes widened at the gesture and lack of further introductions. Was she not to meet her betrothed yet? Was he not here? Unbidden, relief swept through her and she relaxed.

“Yes, thank you.” She said looping her arm around his elbow, forgoing the more formal placing typical of royalty. And with a true, genuine smile, she allowed the King to guide her into the palace.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma awakes early in the morning contemplating the strangeness of her arrival thus far before seeing a little of her new home and getting to know His Majesty.
> 
> For those that caught it last chapter, 
> 
> Unbeta'd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated June 13, 20. This is now the former chapter two and three combined as these chapters kept getting longer the farther into it I went.
> 
> Sidenote: I am finding I really enjoy writing quiet little moments with this Emma.
> 
> Unbeta'd

Dawn started to creep in her window and lighten the deep shadows. Emma watched from where she lay awake in the downy bed, contemplating the day before. After she’d bathed the dirt of a month’s travel away—there was only so much one could do in a brisk mountain stream—Emma had napped through the rest of the morning. The afternoon had then been spent unpacking and preparing for the formal state dinner in honor of her welcome that evening.

She’d been glad of the nap as she went through the court procedures last night, but the price had been waking up before the sun this morning. Sighing, the princess slipped out of bed and into her robe. With soft footfalls—muffled by a thick rug—she made her way over to the large window directly across from the bed. Her bed, she supposed.

The pale light couldn’t really do the view justice, but she’d seen the magnificence yesterday. Her room faced the very mountains from which they’d arrived and she had a suspicion that it was done with purpose, a connection to her past. Then again it could have just been because it was a large suite with a spectacular view, for though they hadn’t seen them on the journey, the mountain range was rich with cascading waterfalls; the sources of the many winding rivers that made this land so fertile.

Still, something niggled in her mind that said the choice to place her here was about more than the aesthetics. Emma chewed her lip and touched her hand to the cool glass, thinking. The King was nothing like what she had expected, but she’d yet to meet her supposed fiance. What seemed like a reprieve yesterday turned into unease this morning.

Over the past three years, a dread had been building inside her. Growing up in the Enchanted Forest, Emma was allowed to go into the village with her personal knight and take long rides through the woods surrounding the castle. She studied everything she could, was a capable swordswoman, and traveled quite a bit with her parents to visit their friends. Unfortunately, these visits had given her a somewhat rosy picture of what royal life could be.

But with her own travels came an awareness that not all princesses, or even all queens, shared the freedoms she had. In one land she spent her days cloistered with the ladies of the court and learned the women weren’t even taught to read. That was the worst, but it seemed half the kings she’d met derided her for her mother’s rule and the other half congratulated her on her mother producing a “true heir” in her baby brother.

So, of course, there was some trepidation coming to this new place with no plans to return to her childhood kingdom. She had watched for slamming gates, excessive guards, invasions of privacy, and overbearing formality. What she received instead was warmth, friendliness, and ease.

The King had even offered to give her a tour of the palace himself today. It was something her mother might do, not a foreign king; but perhaps it was a family trait? Either way, it touched her. So what if she hadn’t met her betrothed. If he was anything like the current King Emma would count herself lucky.

A flicker of hope lit in her chest mimicking the golden light that was just cresting over the horizon. The grey room around her melted away to reveal greens and golds. Soon a knock rang out. The door opened to reveal Opal and two other maids entering with a basin of water, towels, and a tea tray.

“Oh good! I thought you might already be awake Your Highness.” Opal claimed before the strangers, but Emma could see the concern in her eyes. She was forever grateful to have such a caring and discreet lady in waiting—Ruby had raised her ward well. Wanting to ease Opal’s mind that nothing distressing had kept her awake, she replied with a reassuring smile.

“Yes, I found my nap yesterday to be even more refreshing than I planned.” The other ladies bustled fixing the bed while Emma washed her face.

“Would you care for a little breakfast, your highness?” Opal asked once Emma had sat and busied herself at the tea tray, pouring herself a steaming cup.

“That would be lovely.” The two other maids left, with instructions to order some breakfast for the Princess while Emma wrapped her slender fingers about the cup absorbing its warmth and fragrance. She barely quelled a short gasp of recognition, mind racing. “Is there cinnamon in this?”

“Yes, princess. The King asked the kitchens to make it special for you.” Opal said with a smiling glint in her eye.

“Oh, but how did he. . .?” She stopped herself. How could he have come by such information? Emma was in love with the warm spice and both she and her mother highly valued trade with Agrabah because of it. She cleared the tickle that rose up in her throat at the thoughtful gesture. “Well, please pass on my sincere thanks to the kitchen for me when you’re next there.”

“Of course Your Highness.” Opal moved around the room laying out the gown and accessories for the day, waiting for the breakfast tray to arrive. Emma snuggled deeper into the rich green cushion and lifted the cup to take a sip, curiosity blooming alongside her growing hope. Just where exactly had this thoughtful King learned about her cinnamon preference? And even more puzzling, why did he care to?

*****

These questions continued to buzz around her mind when the King arrived to lead her on the promised tour. As she grasped his arm covered by a dark blue tunic she took the opportunity to study him from a closer perspective. His eyes had a few shallow lines around them and though he smiled now there was something about the grooves in his forehead and the corners of his mouth that made her think he didn’t do it as often as he should.

From up close she could also see the silver hairs that were intermixed with the raven locks, his temples having turned fully. His jerkin was well fitted and made her think there wasn’t some vain contraption hidden beneath tucking away his gut as so many Kings had. She only half repressed a snort at the thought.

“Find something amusing in my appearance Princess?” His question caught her off guard as she realized one, they were in an unfamiliar cream and blue sitting room—she hadn’t been paying a bit of attention to how they got there—and two, he’d noticed her staring. Warmth bloomed over her cheeks.

“Oh! No, not at all. I only got lost in my head and a funny thought struck me is all.”

“Care to share?” He asked, eyebrow cocked above twinkling eyes and lips twitching. Her blush spread to her whole face and her eyes widened in panic.

“No! That is, it was terribly rude of me to not be paying attention, and it was perhaps a slightly indecorous thought that would not do any favors to my character.” Oh lord, what was she saying? Her tongue was running away with her and now his very white and very present teeth were making their presence known along with a hearty laugh.

“My now, that does add to the mystery, but for the sake of milady’s character and cheeks, I suppose my curiosity will have to go unquenched.” His smile was bright and teasing but he said no more and she gave a grateful—though embarrassed—smile back.

“If you wouldn’t mind though, I’m afraid my musings have taken any memory I had of getting to this room. Might you enlighten me?”

The King let out a softer, raspier chuckle, but did as asked before continuing the tour. It turned out that they were in one of three grand drawing/sitting rooms on the first floor. Which, now that Emma thought about it, she could remember descending the grand stair.

“This supposedly was my grandmother’s favorite room. In fact, the harp in the corner was brought with her when she married my grandfather.”  
Emma’s eyes lit upon the instrument for the first time and without thinking she approached it, stroking a hand delicately over the neck.

“What was she like?” Wondering about the woman who had possibly influenced Emma’s own talent.

“My grandmother? I don’t know. She died several years before I was born.” The king explained and Emma mentally kicked herself for not remembering the genealogies she’d studied.

“Oh, I’m sorry-”

“There’s no need. My father was rather old when I was born, so it is hardly surprising.” It was quiet for a minute as Emma ran her hand lightly over the strings. “Do you play?”

“Very little,” she said, not wanting to get into her complicated relationship with the instrument. She let her hand drop and stepped decisively back from it. “It’s beautiful though, as is the room.”

His majesty hummed and offered his arm again, but as they left the room he commented, “I hope to hear you play in the future,” and eyed her knowingly.

They stayed on the first floor, skipping the throne room and dining hall which she’d seen the day before, and instead focusing on the library, chapel, and ballroom; all boasting high vaulted or even frescoed ceilings and windows that reached up to them.

There were several smaller rooms that they simply passed by, “For your own explorations,” He said. And before luncheon, he showed her the stables and barracks where all but her most senior knights were staying—those having been given a room just across from hers.

“Now, I’ve planned a bit of a treat for dinner, so asked for a larger meal than you might normally take at this hour to be brought to your room.” Her companion confessed as they ascended the grand stair. He stopped abruptly. “Of course, if you’d rather something light, obviously you can. I just didn’t want you to be hungry later. . .” Emma marveled at this sudden change in manner as he practically tripped over his words. When had she ever seen a King uncomfortable? Moreover where had the collected and teasingly confident man from before gone?

“That sounds lovely. As it happens I’m quite famished from our tour, so no need to change plans.”

“Good. Yes. Perfect.” He sighed, and if the Princess found the reddened tips of his ears endearing, she wouldn’t admit it. “Well someone will be along with trays for you and your companion shortly.” He said as they reached her room on the third level. “Now milady, I have been remiss in my execution thus far, but might I remedy that and properly ask you to join me for dinner this evening?” He took the hand resting on his arm and bowed low over it like a young swain rather than a dignified King.

The extra pomp after a morning of such casual ease made Emma laugh aloud.

“Yes good sir,” she mimicked dipping into a fantastically deep curtsy. “I’d be delighted.”

“Well then, I shall send someone for you this evening.” He straightened into a much more normal pose and pressed a kiss to her hand. “Until then.”

It wasn’t until he had disappeared down the passage and Emma was ensconced in her room that she realized that the topic of her marriage had never been breached and she’d completely forgotten to ask about the cinnamon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opal—Emma's Lady in Waiting—was an orphan working at the palace whom Ruby informally adopted.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over dinner, Emma learns more about her host and how he has come to learn so much about herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we finally start getting into it! As with all my work here this chapter is unbeta'd. 
> 
> I find it so refreshing to be able to splash in a creative puddle (semi)unrestricted. I do always do at least one read through with my husband before posting. ^_^

Opal was just putting a jeweled clip in Emma’s hair when a footman arrived to escort her to dinner. It wasn’t a long journey. To her surprise, they even stayed on the same floor only turning twice before arriving at a non-descript door. 

The footman opened the door and bowed her through as she stepped into a smallish sized sitting room. It held a merrily crackling fire and looked far more welcoming than the ones downstairs. Decorated in warm earth tones with the occasional red accent Emma felt immediately comfortable.

“Ah, good, you’re here!” Her attention snapped to the King at the right who was bent over something on a table she couldn’t make out in the lower light. 

“It was a surprisingly short journey,” Emma said with good humor. “What room is this exactly? It is lovely.”

“Thank you. It’s technically the private family sitting room, though there has not been family gathered in it for many years.” His words were melancholy and struck Emma deeply but when the King looked up he simply smiled and gestured toward the fire. “Please, have a seat.” Several plush cushions she hadn’t noticed before lay before it, a settee having been pushed back to make room. Her eyebrow quirked. What sort of dinner was this? 

She lowered herself down gracefully and was arranging her skirts to be maneuverable when he came from around the back of the settee and offered her a goblet. “Mulled wine?” He wasn’t wearing his crown and a lock of hair fell over his forehead lending a more carefree appearance than Emma had previously seen.

“Oh! Yes, thank you.” She smiled in surprise, taking the warm cup before he went back around to the thing he was working on. It appeared the King was even serving her himself this evening.

“Did you have a pleasant afternoon?”

“I did, I actually wrote to my parents,” Emma said after taking a drink of the heady brew. “I’ve not yet told them of my arrival and I know they are probably anxiously awaiting news.

“Aw, well I can help there!” He came around again, this time carrying a tray. “I have one of your mother’s birds I was waiting to send just for such a purpose.” He sat the tray before them and Emma’s jaw dropped as he sank into the cushions as well.

“How did you know!” The words came out more like an accusation than a question but after the cinnamon tea, this was no coincidence. Upon the tray lay a variety of cheeses cut into small bites, along with breads, meats, fruits, and -the main give away- toasting forks.

“Ah, well your mother and I have continued corresponding during your journey.” He said, preparing himself a fork. “As it happens, this was also one of my family’s favorite ways to spend a chilly night. I thought it might prove a good way to help you feel at home and give us a less formal setting to talk, though we haven’t had too much of a problem so far.” He smiled and offered her her own utensil.

“Perhaps my grandmother brought the tradition with her.” Emma said, “Did you know her well?”

“Eva? No, I was still in leading-strings when my half-sister left for Misthaven. I know my brother was fond of her, but then he was around eight at the time of her marriage. I believe he even attended.” As he paused, Emma considered the grandmother she had never met—much like him—and the brother he had lost. “But it’s likely that it was Eva who brought the tradition to your family since I believe my father was the one who loved it so much. I’ve not done this since both he and Liam were alive.” 

Pushing away the melancholy of missing her own family in the face of his sadness, she instead focused on the overwhelming gratitude she was beginning to feel. “Either way, it is quite my favorite meal. Thank you.” She gestured to the tray and hoped he could hear her sincerity, “Truly. This is so thoughtful; as was the cinnamon tea this morning.” The last part had just the hint of a question and he reached up to scratch behind his ear smiling sheepishly.

“Aye, you’re more than welcome Emma.” He was holding his fork over the fire now, a slight accent slipping in she’d yet to hear. “I know you’ve only just arrived, but you’re not a guest, you’re family. This is your home and I want you to know that.” He said looking her in the eye. 

“Hmm. . .” Emma hummed and ducked her head, starting to prepare her own fork with bread and cheese to give herself something to do as she considered her response. “Everything is far. . . _more_ than I anticipated. And I want to believe. . .” She chewed her lip unsure of how to convey her concerns. “But in my experience, good things tend to come with a price.” She spoke slowly and purposefully, all the while turning her fork. “I can’t help wondering why bother yourself with these details about me Your Majesty? If you were trying to win me over I’d understand, but my future here is already certain.”

“Ah, I’m afraid you’ve been given a bad impression of the greater world.” He spoke removing his morsel from the fire. “Strange though you may find it, to me your future here is one part of why I should take interest. I know we need to talk about your role here and soon, but for the moment let me assure you that is not the main reason why I care to make you feel at home.” He was quiet for a moment, “You are lucky to have your family whole and healthy.” 

“Yes, I know. . .” She conceded uneasily, removing her stick from the fire and letting it cool before nibbling the gooey bite. He smiled a bit sadly as he had his own bite and gestured for her to take more from the tray before beginning.

“As I said, I have been without family and that kind of intimacy for well over a decade now. Since then I have found there are few I trust and even fewer who truly know me.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “I am not saying trust is automatic because of our family connection but simply that I have been lonely and—distant though our relation may be—I’m not in a position to be frivolous with the ones I have left.” 

Emma wished she could reach out and offer him comfort but did not yet feel comfortable with that herself. Perhaps, as he was saying, it would come with time. Mayhaps she could come to see him as a close friend if not as family.

“It is my wish that we can know one another like relations should, with all of the little preferences and idiosyncrasies. It’s also why I’d like to dispense with formalities if you don’t mind. I was in earnest yesterday about not having titles between us. I’d like for you to call me Killian if it suits you. Very few call me by my name anymore.” Emma could certainly empathize with that. “In return, I’ll call you Emma if I may, though I have to warn you, I have a penchant for nicknames leftover from my Navy days. You’ll have to let me know if I start calling you something you dislike.” 

“Killian.” She tested, feeling it roll off her tongue. It suited him. “Well, I’ve never had a nickname before. I think I’d like to see what you come up with.” She gave an arch smile popping yet another morsel in her mouth.

“Here,” he said as soon as she was done, holding his hand out for her fork. “If you’ll permit me,” He proceeded to place an apple slice and bit of goat cheese on her tongs before handing it back. “It’s one of my favorites.” She took it, seeing it for what it was, an exchange. He knew some of her favorites so now he was sharing his. Evening the ground.

He was right, it was salty and tangy, juicy and sweet. She returned the favor by recommending a few of her favorites as well. She was just growing sated with their meal when he spoke again. 

“Now, perhaps it is time we talked about why you have come to Glowerhaven, and the other more practical reason I believe getting to know you is important.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian and Emma discuss her purpose in coming to Glowerhaven and Emma learns the truth about her 'betrothed'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we get to it.

“Tell me Emma, what are your expectations here?” He asked and Emma plucked up a strawberry as she pondered her answer.

“Not. . .this." She began honestly, fiddling with the fruit. “I thought I understood what to expect when I arrived but have been surprised or confused at every turn.” Her eyes stayed focused on the strawberry pulling the leaves off one by one. _Where did they get such fruit this close to winter anyway?_

“Why don’t you tell me _why_ you came to Glowerhaven so I can help to fill in the picture.” His tone was caring, and though he’d explained it still seemed foreign to her as she glanced up.

“Well, since you have no natural heir, I’m here on behalf of my family to marry your successor, and ensure our kingdoms’ blood connection continues on to the next generation.” The fate she’d been trying to steel herself for poured out in one long rush. She sucked in a breath.

“. . .That was direct.” Killian said nonplussed and Emma huffed out a laugh.

“I would think you’d know I dislike dissembling by now Your Maj -Killian.” She corrected.

“True, it is a good thing I also appreciate frankness.” He smiled widely at her for a moment before it faded into a softer expression. “That is all essentially true, however there are some finer details you’re not yet aware of.”

“Do they have to do with why I have yet to be introduced to my betrothed?” Emma asked. It was after all the most confusing part of her arrival since she’d been half-afraid she’d be married already.

“Again, right on point.” His ears went a little red again. “Well, you see. . .I have yet to name my heir.” 

“What?” Emma blinked. 

“I assure you I have someone in mind but it is not official. In fact, I have yet to speak of my intentions with him.” He was tugging on one of his ears now and Emma was beginning to see a pattern of unease she’d not come across in any King, though she had never had such an opportunity to observe any informally either. 

“If I may ask, why not?” Emma’s tone was all politeness in the face of this unexpected development. Her fingers though, plucked at the fabric of her skirt nervously, strawberry & leaves abandoned. 

“Ah, well you see he wouldn’t exactly be a popular choice," he stroked his short beard, "but he is the closest thing I have to a son. Many have seen my favoritism and speculate, but for so long I’ve just been trying to protect him, hence never making my intentions known.” Killian’s tone grew soft and he added, almost as an afterthought, “ I also never wanted to raise hopes if they would only be shattered later.” He shook his head. “Anyway, my issue is because of this I have been unable to properly prepare him to rule. I’ve left him woefully under-qualified for parts of the role I hope to settle on his shoulders. I needed a solution.” 

There was a beat of silence as he gazed at her meaningfully before Emma realized. “Me.”

“Indeed. When news of your brother’s birth came I knew it would likely be difficult for you. I understand suddenly changing roles in life, but I also saw an opportunity. Someone who was raised to rule; who studied governments and practiced diplomacy with the added benefit of being directly descended from this same royal line. And now that someone was without a kingdom of her own.” His gaze had turned back to the fire but Emma still felt all his attention focused on her. 

She was, well she didn’t know what she was, but her heart rate had spiked and she had to use great effort to keep her voice level.

“So I’m to help legitimize his claim and what, tutor him in running a kingdom?” In the end it didn’t work as a slight note of hysteria crept in. Or perhaps it was incredulity.

“Only partly.”

“Well, which part?” Yes, there was a definite high pitch to her words now and she thought she was leaning toward anger or laughter rather than tears.

“Emma, please be at ease.” Killian said turning toward her fully and extending a hand to place over both of hers, twisted in her burgundy skirt. “Yes, you would legitimize his Kingship, but my hope is that if you two marry I can name you as joint-heirs, ruling side by side equally. It should help gather the approval of enough of the court, at least, to avoid any nastiness or usurpers.” 

“Joint rule?” She blinked again. Nothing about this conversation had gone as expected. Just as nothing about her arrival or Killian had either. In truth she should be expecting the unexpected by now, but how could she? This was the most impossible turn of events and again her emotions were left trying to catch up to the information. “You mean, I wouldn’t be his consort.” Perhaps she’d just misunderstood, but his knowing eyes told her otherwise.

“Far be it from me to relegate a born leader to the background.” His tone was gently teasing as he removed his hand but his words were the least funny thing she’d ever heard. Then she remembered something else he’d said.

“Wait. If. . .you said _if_ we marry. So. . . we aren’t to be wed immediately?”

“Oh no! This isn’t a foregone conclusion. It may be surprising but I actually find arranged marriages distasteful myself.” Killian confessed as if telling a childhood secret.

“You do?” At this point, Emma felt that her forehead may permanently stick in a confused knot.

“Well my dear, I wouldn’t be a bachelor King if I didn’t.” He gave a wry one-sided smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“But then, why did you agree for me to come?”

“For all the reasons I just stated, but you must see if you get on first. It’s not like I’ve got a foot in the grave yet! I’m hoping you can get to know each other. Perhaps you can take the chance to “tutor him” as you put it, but there are many delicate parts and I’m not yet able to make the step in declaring him, or rather both of you, my heirs. If you don’t at least like each other I’m afraid it will be nigh impossible to try leading a country together.”

“What happens if we don’t? Like each other I mean.”

“Well then, I may have to go back to square one and find a different alternative. My bigger concern is gaining support for you both to take the crown, also why I don’t want you to rush into a marriage that may end up being for naught. What a waste of _your_ skills if you were married to a knight for the rest of your life.” Emma blushed.

“But in truth, I believe you will one day be queen over this land and this palace. It is my hope that when that time comes, it is as dear and familiar to you as the one you grew up in.” He leaned in. “It is my wish that as you get to know your prospective fiance you can also be getting to know this kingdom. Perhaps he can even help you with that the same way you help him with diplomacy.”

Emma turned his words over in her mind, knowing that it was going to take a full night to process the information, but she still needed to know one thing more. “Well then. . .I have much to think about and will say goodnight." Killian stood and offered his hand to help her to her feet as well. "But, before I go," she took a deep breath, "might I know the name of my potential suitor?” 

His eyes seemed pained, though she could not fathom why, as he answered.

“His name is Sir Baelfire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it! Our characters have an interesting road ahead but take heart this is a Killian/Emma fic. Maybe I should tag it slow burn, but I'm honestly hoping it won't be that slow as I don't want this to be excessively long either. ;) Still, the characters are the main ones driving this thing, so we'll just have to sit back and see!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma sees more of the castle and struggles with a new sense of anxiety as she prepares to meet Sir Baelfire for the first time.

Several more days passed without Emma meeting Sir Baelfire. It turned out he and four other knights had been called off on a mission to the borders of the Kingdom—some bit of trouble with a troll who’d made its way down from the mountains when the snows came.

In the meantime, Emma had continued her tour with Killian in small segments. One day they’d explored the grounds and gardens, including the vegetable garden and palace dairy. He’d explained that the ornamental gardens were segmented around the castle by season, so that there was always an area outdoors that would be appealing. 

Emma found everything extremely orderly and precise, yet somehow not stifling or cold. There were trees, flowering shrubs, or hedges delineating everything and softening the whole. She wondered how much of it had been the product of generations past and how much of Killian’s naval precision had influenced it. Either way, she was glad that the effect still held a romantic sensibility as gardens ought.

The morning after he took them down below through the kitchens, still room, laundry and servants quarters, which she was half surprised he showed her. When she asked that evening over supper—which they’d taken together since her arrival—he earnestly reminded her that he “wished her to be just as at home here as she was in Misthaven”. 

“So you intend to show me all of the hidden passages and secret rooms as well?” She’d teased.

He laughed rich and deep. “Yes, if you wish. I spent many days of my boyhood exploring every nook and cranny of the palace with my brother and I’m sure your own castle was just as familiar to you.” His eyes twinkled merrily and she found herself smiling at being the reason behind it.

The next afternoon they explored the second floor with its music room, salon, upper library, gallery, and his favorite room—”on this floor at least,” he said—the conservatory. 

The scent of citrus wafted through the vast oval room with glass ceiling and walls. Flowers and fruit trees—she spotted strawberries too—grew from every shape and size of container imaginable and the tinkling of water came from small wall fountains on either side of the doors. And at the center of all this lay a sort of indoor portico where they were currently taking tea. 

Putting down her cup and sitting back with a contented sigh, Emma eyed her last bite of biscuit. She may have overindulged, but she was beginning to think the kitchen staff was intent on fattening her up with all the delicious confections they kept sending her way. 

Killian placed down his cup as well and smiled at her. They’d been chatting about an upcoming ball until a footman had arrived with his correspondence. This he’d seen to while they relaxed, thus his own indulgence had been small compared to her own. 

“Time for a nap then?” He teased; she pouted. 

“I may just have to skip dinner though,” Emma replied intending to tease back. He gave a wry grin, but his brow furrowed.

“Yes, sadly, I won’t be able to join you for dinner tonight either.” Killian raised a leaf of paper, as if it was the reason. “It seems Baelfire and the others have arrived, so I’ll need to meet with them.” 

Emma stiffened lightly, completely alert.

“And. . .?”

“And we’ll have dinner tomorrow night to welcome them back.” He continued, “Give the kitchens time to prepare, you know.” When she didn’t say anything he commented, “. . .it’ll be an excellent way for you to meet him casually.”

She hummed and picked up her teacup only to remember it was empty as it touched her lips. Why was she feeling nervous _now_? She took a steadying breath and put the cup back appearing perfectly composed. Killian's eyes held concern.

“Remember that this is not an obligation Emma, you don’t have to marry him.”

That ate at her. Though she knew that he was only trying to be helpful, it was like he forgot that she still had a kingdom of her own that was counting on this alliance. Yet, she pushed it aside and nodded, pasting a reassuring smile on her face. If only she could have the assurance that she would get along with Sir Baelfire as well as she did with the King.

*****

Emma sat at her vanity as the sun set the next day. As Opal combed through her hair, testing different styles, Emma watched the golden light play across the landscape and shoot prisms through her room. She sighed deeply.

“Not to your liking your highness?” Opal asked with concern in her voice and Emma startled, her attention snapping back to Opal whose brow she could see furrowed in the mirror’s reflection. 

“What?” Then she realized Opal was referring to her hair. “Oh, no it’s. . .” she intended to say fine but the word died on her tongue. Opal’s face fell. “No!” Emma said, realizing her mistake, “it’s not the hair really. It’s just. . .just everything.” She slumped forward and cupped her face in her hands, staring down at the vanity’s chestnut surface.

“Why am I feeling this way now? I was ready to marry a complete stranger a week ago but now that I’m about to meet him I feel. . .” Well, that was just the problem she thought as she trailed off. She didn’t know what to feel. Anxiousness was certainly present, as was the thrill of anticipation. But there was also a little seed of resentment. 

Resentment at this 'Sir Baelfire' for not being there to greet her when she arrived. Resentment that she carried the weight of knowing how important their meeting was while he remained blissfully unaware. Because now, instead of just marrying a stranger, she had to make a stranger _want_ to marry her. It was on _her_ to make this work and the pressure to make an impression was crushing. 

The light outside was turning scarlet, making the chestnut wood of the vanity appear bronzed and burnished. One of her hands dropped to trace the smooth grain as her thoughts continued. 

There was also a drop of resentment toward Killian for putting her in this position. She was growing to see him as a confidant and yet he’d done this. Did he not understand her position? She couldn't marry for love, so why pretend? Why dangle the possibility of affection as a requirement to a political marriage?

Opal’s hand came to rest on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Her eyes studied Emma in the mirror and she gave an understanding smile. 

“Perhaps. . .I know you may want to impress your betrothed, but since this is to be your first meeting. . .” Opal trailed off looking timid, as if she wasn’t sure she should have spoken at all.

“Go on,” Emma encouraged. She continued to rub the smooth wood in light circles, grounding herself.

“I just meant Princess, that if you’re feeling uncomfortable, perhaps it would be better to appear more yourself—style your hair relaxed and natural—rather than elaborate?” Her voice went up at the end, uncertain.

Emma stared wide-eyed at Opal in the mirror. It was so very simple, but could she do it? Ignore the pressure and expectation she was feeling? After all she barely knew a thing about this ‘Sir Baelfire’ anyway who was to say what he would like. And wasn’t the point of this to see if they would genuinely get along?

“I’m sorry your highness, I shouldn’t have said-” 

“No.” Emma said quickly, turning to look her maid in the face, grateful for her companion. “It’s a wonderful Idea Opal. I’d much prefer that, truly.” She turned back around sitting up straight at the vanity table and gave it a little tap. “I know it’s not exactly customary for a dinner but I’ve yet to wear my hair down since we’ve arrived here.” She said with a little smile.

“Well, thankfully you _are_ a Princess. You get to set and change trends!” Opal beamed in return, “And I have just the thing!” 

Barely thirty minutes later, Emma’s hair was a cascade of golden waves down her back with a long blue-green apatite embellished hair comb—to match the accents on her otherwise simple white gown—holding it back from her face. She’d forgone the tiara and felt a smile touching her cheek for the first time since she’d started attempting to get ready hours ago. 

The crimson sky was just fading into a deep purple as a footman knocked at the door announcing the dinner hour. Her companion went to open it, assuring him the princess was ready. Emma took one last look in the mirror, nodding decisively. Opal was right, but her appearance was the least of it. Whatever tonight held for her, she would rise to the occasion and be herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a surprise chapter for me. I thought I'd be jumping into the next major plot point, but then another quiet moment popped into my head for Emma and Killian as well as one of Emma processing and I had to get it down.
> 
> Next will be the meeting with Baelfire, I promise!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time! Enter Sir Baelfire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd

“Princess Emma of Misthaven,” The footman announced as she entered the dining hall. Her slim white dress swished softly about her feet as she approached Killian who, smiling widely, had stood up along with everyone else and held out his hand for her.

He must have seen something of her nerves in her eyes, for once her hand rested on his, he pressed it and whispered with a smile in his voice, “You look as effortlessly lovely as a swan,” before turning to the room.

A little smile teased her lips and she had to suppress a blush as she scanned the room of faces. 

Five unknown men were present. Though two stood next to women that could only be their wives and another, a very large, older man with a wild beard, also stood next to a young lady and did not seem a likely candidate for someone whom Killian saw as a son. That left two choices.

“Good sirs, let me introduce you.” The King said and Emma’s eyes darted back and forth between  
a young man with short scruffy brown locks and facial hair, and a tall—almost severely skinny—young man with curly blonde locks. Which was Sir Baelfire? 

“Princess Emma, allow me to introduce Sir Anton,” Killian gestured to the older man who bowed elegantly despite his largeness. “And his daughter, Lady Jaqueline.” The girl's eyes were wide as she bobbed a curtsy and Emma wondered if this might be her first royal dinner. “Sir William—who most call Scarlet—and his wife Lady Ana, and Sir Cyrus and his wife Lady Alice.” The couples bowed or curtsied respectively though their faces showed a vast range from playful to bored. “And of course Sir Baelfire and Sir Liam—named after the former king.” 

So it was the scruffy one. Emma gave a gracious curtsy to the whole room as soon as introductions were finished, and Killian escorted her down to the opposite end of the table, a place of honor which was normally reserved for a hostess. It also just so happened to be next to Sir Baelfire.

When the King again reached his seat, they all sat at his gesture and immediately the footmen jumped into action. Sir Baelfire leaned toward her as the first course was placed before them.

“I believe His Majesty must be wishing for us to get to know one another.” He said in a rather gravelly voice, a jaunty smile playing about his lips. Emma’s eyebrows shot up.

“Oh? How might you have come to that conclusion sir, unless the King has spoken to you of such a desire?” Her words were light but tentative. Had Killian talked to him? Was he aware of everything or was he merely teasing? To keep from holding her breath with curiosity, she took a small sip of her soup. 

“Not as such.” His smile widened conspiratorially, “He did say he should like to introduce us, however my biggest clue is that he has placed me here, next to you, when guests of honor normally sit closer to himself.” 

“Oh.” Disappointed, Emma stole a glance across the table to where Killian was talking animatedly with Sir Scarlet. “But are _you_ not the guests of honor this evening? This dinner is not being given for _me_.” 

“True your highness, perhaps I’m just viewing the situation through my own wishes.” He winked and reached for his goblet. 

“Oh hush man, you’ll make the Princess blush.” Sir Anton said from her other side. She thought that was being generous as her cheeks were already rosy. 

“How have you found our Kingdom thus far, your highness?” Sir Liam asked. He seemed very proper and stiff in the way he held himself, but genuine.

“Very lovely. I admit I had a moment of awe looking down at the kingdom from the mountain pass.”

“Really?” Lady Ana cut in from her place in the middle of the table, breaching etiquette and drawing the eyes of the King. “Our little hamlet can stun the Princess of the _famed_ Enchanted Forest?” Emma’s flush faded, she barely had a moment to wonder at the bait when Sir Anton spoke warningly. 

“Her Highness is paying us a compliment, Milady.” It seemed the large man was taking up the role of her advocate.

“My dear,” Sir Scarlet spoke with a forced chuckle. “Let us not appear as if we have left our manners at home!” Lady Ana’s mouth snapped shut. The two men Emma was most aware of were silent during this exchange, though while Killian’s eyes showed obvious concern, Sir Baelfire watched with amusement, as if viewing a boxing match.

Setting down her spoon, Emma rolled her shoulders back and made them relax. This was familiar territory.

“Indeed sir, I took no offense.”

“I only meant that since you come from such a vast region and have traveled so much, Glowerhaven must seem rather inconsequential in comparison.” Lady Ana defended. Emma nodded graciously allowing the lady her excuse as the courses were switched out. 

“Oh, I can not compare kingdoms, each has a uniqueness that intrigues me. It is like the land, how can one compare mountains to the shore, or rolling hills to towering forests?” 

“You must have favorites,” Sir Baelfire inserted, leaning back in his chair with his jaunty grin. “Even the most diplomatic person in the world would be lying if they claimed to love all places equally.” Emma bit the tip of her tongue as he spoke. Was her unwitting betrothed construing her as a liar or just being careless with his words?

“Did I claim to love all places equally?” She said keeping her external calm, though her voice might have been a touch biting. 

Baelfire raised an eyebrow, still smirking. He was enjoying this. Why? The King said not a word as he continued to watch with his brow furrowed. Simultaneously she wished he would step in, while also praying he would let her handle it herself. She tried not to let her frustration get the better of her as she continued. 

“Every person has preferences, but that does not make one place truly better than the last. Many love one thing about a place but dislike another, and likely for very different reasons.  
“For example, I am very fond of both the Kingdoms of Arrendell and Agrabah, one for the deep friendships I have there and the other for the colorful culture and exotic flavors. At the same time, I find Arrendell bitterly cold and hate traveling there except in the summer, while Agrabah has had issues with poverty and the freedoms they allow women.” 

She paused for a moment, realizing she had gotten perhaps a little too personal and serious for such a group. She changed her tone to lighten the air with a little laugh, “Also the sand gets in everything.”

The group laughed, thankfully, and conversation shifted to the few places that the rest of the table had been to. Emma could still feel Killian’s eyes on her and looked up, catching his gaze. There was something of pride in his eyes as he smiled and gave a small nod before giving his attention to Sir Cyrus and Lady Alice (the most well-traveled aside from her and Killian). Young Jaqueline in particular listened with awe as everyone took turns regaling the table. 

Three more courses came and went, thankfully with no more baiting remarks. The topic had turned to their recent quest and past skirmishes and it seemed sir Baelfire simply enjoyed causing a bit of trouble as he goaded his fellow knights. Emma realized in another situation she may have found his antics amusing. His care-free air may have actually been quite winning if they weren’t in this situation.

However, knowing their situation made her feel irritated at his lax manners and flippant attitude. Though it wasn’t his fault for not knowing, and Emma supposed she should be grateful to get to know him this way, without any pretense, she found herself growing more apprehensive as the evening progressed. 

He seemed completely uninterested in her beyond his own amusement. After the dessert course was brought out and the conversation was winding down, Lady Alice brought up that the annual First Frost Ball was very quickly approaching to which everyone replied enthusiastically. 

It was as they were leaving the table for the night that Sir Baelfire caught her off guard.

“So, what do you say. Would you save me a dance, your highness?” He leaned in to ask. 

“What?” 

“A dance. . .at the ball?” He said again and when she didn’t respond, smirked. Emma had to grind her teeth to reign in the impulse to do or say something she ought not. 

“I understood your request, sir. I was merely surprised by it.”  
`  
“Not used to dance requests from ordinary knights?” His words could have been an insult but again she saw in his eyes the teasing, amused glint that always seemed to be there.

“Indeed I have danced with _many_ knights.” Again she flushed but before he could say anything else or turn her words into another joke she curtsied with a simple, “I accept. Good night sir.” And turning, caught a glimpse of Killian’s frowning face as she swept out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this scene about 5 times, just not getting it right. Mostly because I was struggling with how to present Baelfire the first time. Which aspect of his personality would be the first impression. Finally, after mashing several versions together, condensing and adding new bits to stitch it all together, I was satisfied so I've left it following the adage that you never really finish writing, you have to just abandon it. I hope you enjoyed!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Frost Ball begins! 
> 
> Emma gets caught in conversation by a few people she's met before when all she'd really like is a moment of peace or at least a dance with the King. Thankfully (or not?) someone comes to rescue her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd

The orchestra played with liveliness and vigor as Emma escaped the dance floor in search of a glass of punch. After briefly opening the ball with a member of the privy council she’d immediately been swept away by a Sir Cyrus (who she quietly thanked profusely) and then again by a luridly dressed duke, only to finally be rescued by Sir August.

It had been a great respite to be in the company of her own knight for a set. Not least because she didn’t have to speak and be her witty and charming self. Instead, he entertained her with nonsensical observations allowing her to simply relax for a moment.

Still, she needed a minute to cool off before returning to the fray. The ballroom was a spectacle, quite unique to many balls she’d attended. Carved ice sculptures bedecked every surface and glass strands made to _look_ like ice hung from chandeliers. They along with the polished white marble columns and silver ornaments reflected the light. Everything was swagged in icy blue and silver fabric, from the sweeping stair and windows to Emma herself.

Tonight she looked every inch a princess with her jewel embellished light blue gown and thin diamond tiara. As a late alteration, she’d decided to have stiffened wispy white feathers added to the arm pieces when Opal insisted it needed a little something more. They were both extremely pleased by the result, and though Emma had tried not to let the inspiration for the feathers be more than a passing thought, she'd failed.

The King—claiming he rarely danced anymore—sat upon the dias in a tasseled silver jacket reminiscent of a military uniform, socializing with his guests. The addition to her own gown was subtle enough that she _hoped_ he’d pick up on her reference about his comment and fondness of nicknames. The smile he’d given her when she’d entered made her think so, as well as made her feel. . .happy, she decided, not wanting to dig deeper into the warm feeling.

Happy was it. Though she did wonder at herself for giving so much thought to Killian when she dressed tonight—it _really_ would be a shame if she couldn’t convince him to dance with her just once after altering her gown with him in mind—and almost none to Sir Baelfire. She supposed it just boiled down her knowing Killian better, after all they were so frequently in each other’s company.

Just yesterday they’d actually had a long talk about her first lackluster impression of Sir Baelfire and he apologized for not preparing Baelfire for the importance of the meeting. She’d promised to not put too much weight on the first impression and he promised to press his counsel for their opinion. So, while Baelfire wouldn’t know everything tonight, he would soon.

Speaking of whom, she’d yet to see the man who’d claimed a dance from her so precipitously. Freeing herself from the crush of people around the dance floor and refreshment tables she found an open seat near a window and frosted silver fir tree to sip her punch and enjoy the calm. The window was cracked allowing a bracing current of air to enter and help keep the room from overheating.

Only seconds later she was descended upon by Lady Jaqueline along with a group of young bucks and ladies who all looked wide-eyed. With a deep breath Emma formed a gracious smile and set down her punch.

“Good evening Lady Jaqueline.”

“Your Highness!” The lady curtsied deeply as she replied, voice high with excitement. The others in the group watched in awe and Emma held back a laugh. She remembered well how it felt at her first few balls and this girl who could be no more than 15 was quite in the thrall of the occasion. “I was mentioning to my friends about all the places you said you’d been to and wondered if you might share more about your travels?” Her already excited voice pitched up at the end, breathless.

“Well, Lady Jaqueline, I would-”

“Except a ball is not the place for such exclusive conversation.” Jaqueline’s father Sir Anton had arrived from one direction while several more ladies—including Lady Ana—arrived from another. “We can not take up the Princesses evening with conversation when dancing is to be had.” He smiled fondly at his daughter, despite the reprimand.

“Besides it’s not as if the Princess would even want to answer your questions.” Lady Ana spoke, voice raised imperiously. Emma had to force herself not to roll her eyes and wondered if the lady was obtuse enough to try and bait Emma again, or if she was simply lording it over young Jaqueline.

“Pray, I beg you allow me to answer for myself Lady Ana, for I see no harm in satisfying _innocent_ curiosity.” Emma picked up her cup but wished she had something stronger than punch as Lady Ana huffed in indignation, looking offended. So it was the latter then.

“But you did not seem to wish-” Lady Ana stopped short. Her voice was strained as everyone watched her with raised eyebrows. “At dinner you spoke of many places, yet avoided saying anything material about your time here.” The end turned accusing as if trying to shift the negative attention away, but any pity Emma might have had for her was dried up by exasperation.

“Did I not? If so it was simply because I did not wish to speak with favoritism of a place I’ve known so shortly. However since you ask so directly, I would be remiss if I did not say that I have felt more at home in Glowerhaven than any other foreign land.” Her voice turned earnest, “I carry my home with me wherever I go, but in truth, for the first time I am not anticipating my return.”

It was a bold statement that they could interpret how they wished, but it was true. She had come here knowing she wouldn’t return but what no one, including herself, could’ve guessed was how quickly she would feel comfortable. In no small part, thanks to the King himself. Her eyes flicked to the dias finding him standing and talking with a group of older men. His coat brought out the silver in his obsidian locks, Emma mused, but rather than make him appear old it created quite the striking picture, especially when his eyes crinkled and his head tilted back in an obvious laugh that she was unable to hear from across the ballroom.

“Truly? But how can we compare to Misthaven?” Jaqueline brought her back from her distraction with genuine wonder and puzzlement. It was amazing how essentially the same question could sound so different from these two women.

“It is as I said before, kingdoms can not be compared. But one should take pride in their homeland and there are many awe-inspiring things about this place. For example, I have never seen an autumn as glorious as you have here. The colors that cover the land are breathtaking. Misthaven is magical, but it rarely shows such alteration of the seasons. Just snow in the winter and wildflowers in the spring.  
“I find the unhindered view of the Glowerhaven spread out to be particularly wonderful. From your towering waterfalls to the ripe farmland. I even caught a glimpse of the sea as we came down from the mountains. Your home is a place of fruitfulness and prosperity that opens its arms wide with welcome. I can not tell you enough how rare and beautiful a thing that is. ”

“Well put, Princess.” Sir Anton bowed. “It is often hard for those who live in a place to appreciate what is around them. We are exceedingly blessed.” Everyone murmured in agreement.

“Indeed, _fine_ praise! We thank you, Princess, for your glowing description.” A voice carried from the back of the group and a few younger ones scooted aside to reveal Sir Baefire with his customary teasing grin playing over his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am later than I wanted posting this, but I had such a hard time with a few specific wordings this chapter! I still was unable to fix one of them (I STILL can't think of or find the word that was meant for "exclusive conversation"). It is something that niggles the back of my brain when I think about Jane Austen novels for 'someone monopolizing a conversation or person' but I had to give up. Maybe I'm making it up and it doesn't actually exist? :P
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter. It's been hard not having Emma and Killian interact but I like that as I'm writing Emma it feels like Killian is never far from her mind. ^_^


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Baelfire's mental parry turns into a sharp battle of tongues during their dance.

He held two cups of punch and came forward to replace her now empty one with a bow. That alone made Emma glad to see him as she took a needed sip. Baelfire rose again, downing his own as she enjoyed her punch, and set down his cup before holding a hand out to her.

“Now, his majesty sent me to rescue you, Your Highness.” Emma’s fond and gracious smile froze on her face. Her thankfulness at the punch evaporated. What was wrong with this man? Did he have no sense of etiquette or delicacy? For the second time, she was going to have to work to cover an unintentional insult, only this time not directed at her.

“Indeed sir I have no need of a rescue as I am in good company,” Emma said lightly. “However if this is your way of finally claiming the dance you requested days ago then I am at your leisure.” He simply grinned at her and gave a wink. Over and over Emma repeated in her head not to grind her teeth.

“As you say.” Swallowing the rest of her punch and taking his hand she stood and curtsied politely to the gathering.  
“Please, excuse me. It seems my presence is required on the dance floor.” However, she stopped only two steps later to turn back to Lady Jaqueline. “You must join me for tea sometime so we may continue our chat. Say, next week?”

Lady Jaqueline nodded enthusiastically while several of her friend’s mouths popped open and Lady Ana glowered. Smiling Emma turned and allowed Baelfire to lead her back into the fray and onto the patterned, gleaming marble dance floor.

“Perhaps, we should keep you, your highness, to impress any future visiting dignitaries with your descriptions of our fair kingdom.” He said as they came into position and joined the uptempo waltz. Emma raised an eyebrow, uncertain of what his intention was. Perhaps he was more intrigued by her then he’d let on?

“That’s why you’ve come, isn’t it?” Baelfire leaned closer as they found their rhythm—he was a competent dancer, but she wouldn’t call him particularly graceful. “To be the one welcoming any future visiting dignitaries?” He stated, face knowing. Keeping her face impassive Emma’s eyes flicked again to the dias but she didn’t see the King.

She was glad Sir Baelfire at least understood she was here to forge an alliance. However, she wondered at the purpose of his question, knowing Killian hadn’t talked to him yet—was he simply curious or did he perhaps not approve of her being here?

“That is a possible outcome, yes.” She replied as he turned her out for a spin. 

“Possible?” He brought her back in. “Playing your cards close to the vest; are you always quite this proper?” Emma let out a rather unladylike snort at this before laughing.

“Hardly.” Whether he intended it negatively or not, it showed just how little he knew her. And well, wasn’t that the point of dancing with him to start to rectify that? Smiling she continued, “But I do find it wise to not reveal the hand I’m dealt to the table. I may think I know what the other person holds, but if I am unfamiliar with them how can I be sure? Revealing one’s hand in uncertainty is not usually considered wise.”

“Is that not the point of any game? Chance, risk, the thrill of the unknown?” He asked as he led them into a promenade. He slightly fumbled through the steps which made her feel a bit more charitable. 

“Perhaps it depends on the stakes of the game. I do not have the advantage of playing many games for amusement and so will stand firm that I do not take chances without knowing the other player’s hand.” 

Once again in the traditional hold they continued around the room.

“But we can never be certain of what another player holds.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. I feel the better I know the player, the easier it is to understand their tells, thus what they might be holding.” He raised their hands to go through a more complex spin. Emma almost had to help lead him through movement when it felt as if they might go slightly off-kilter, but they made it through unscathed. Afterward, she continued. “Thankfully I’m rather good at sensing deceit in others, so that often helps me to avoid unwanted games, or at least keep from laying a bad hand.” 

With Baelfire’s hand on her waist they maneuvered until they were both facing the same direction. 

“Ah, I see. However, surely there is no harm in revealing your cards to someone who doesn’t even sit at the table.” Emma was grateful the dance allowed her to be looking away from him just then, for it took a moment to school her reaction.

“It is not for me to say who the players are or are not, especially in a new setting.” She said lightly, cringing inside as they faced one another again. This was a blatant falsehood compared with all the rest of their banter, but she knew not how to avoid it. 

“Ha!” He laughed under his breath, eyes gleaming, as the music came to end. “Remind me to never play you at cards.”

They took a step back from each other and applauded the orchestra as Emma feigned a smile. It was certainly _interesting_ talking with Sir Baelfire, he always had something provoking to say. Yet even more than his teasing, this tiptoeing around him and the situation had set her on edge. His ignorance was making things harder than they needed to be, and she hoped Killian would remedy it soon. 

“Perhaps another dance your highness,” Baelfire asked as the dancers who remained reconfigured themselves for a cotillion. “Since we only joined half of the other?”

“I am uncertain if that is wise sir,” Emma said, subtly beginning to move back to the refreshment table. Stubbornly he followed.

“Really and why might that be?” She dared not give the main reason so instead turned his teasing attitude back on him. 

“Seeing as how our other topic seems to have reached its conclusion, I am of a mind to spend the dance berating you for your earlier behavior.” His smile turned amused as she spoke, trying to put him off. 

“And what might I have done to warrant such a scolding?”

“Really Sir Baelfire, your memory is failing you. Let me remind you of the manner in which you pulled me away from my conversation not half an hour ago.” She picked up a plate as they reached the table and began perusing it for a few choice sweets, not out of hunger but as an excuse for having walked in that direction.

“Come now, you can’t say you weren’t longing for an interruption.” Baelfire followed behind her picking up a morsel to pop straight in his mouth.

“Even if I was, and even if the King had sent you to ‘rescue me’,” Her voice was light but firm as she turned to look him in the eye, chin raised to impress her point. “I am certain he intended for you to employ more gentility.” 

Instead he laughed.

“I got the job done didn’t I? Besides, you covered the situation well enough.” This time he grabbed a bite off of her own plate which only served to spike her irritation to the point where she was having trouble covering it. “Smoothed any ruffled feathers.” 

“I shouldn’t have had to.” Her answer was more strained than she would have liked. The light tone of the conversation had quickly dissipated but Baelfire seemed unconcerned.

“Listen, the King knows me well enough and still sent me for the task, so I don’t know why you’ve got your skirts in a twist.” Baelfire chewed his stolen bite while Emma stood, not touching her plate, face red. 

“Yes, but can’t you see that _especially_ as the King’s emissary a more subtle approach should have been used?” What had started as teasing had turned into an earnest and frustrating argument, at least on Emma’s side. 

“Listen, I’m sure that sort of thing is useful to you diplomatic types, Your Highness, but I’m a knight—a man of action—and this is a ball, not a council chamber.” Baelfire’s ever-present amused expression was gone and he looked faintly annoyed. Emma had set her plate down and was clenching her fists to curb her own pique.

“There is a decent way to speak to people no matter the occasion.” She spoke slowly and clearly as if that might finally make him understand her point, but it was not to be. 

“Well I’ll leave the subtlety and politics up to you _Princess_ and you can let me know how it goes when you're still stuck in useless conversations a year from now.” His tone was snide and the cursory bow he gave as frosty as the wintery ballroom before he turned left Emma, flushed with anger. 

She set down her untouched plate with a clatter and unconsciously scanned for Killian coming up empty. It was no matter, she would not be able to talk to him now anyway. Her own emotions rolled and boiled, finding it hard to settle and as Emma made her escape from the ballroom she reflected that her betrothed certainly had a way of making himself appear superior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, no Emma didn't get her dance with Killian 😞. Have no fear though, another ball lies on the horizon and I wished to give their first dance the time and space it deserves. 😉
> 
> By the way thank you to everyone who leaves comments. I've been struggling with motivation and just general apathy with this whole isolation business (even introverts need socialization once in a while) and knowing that you guys appreciate the story helps me kick my butt into gear. 🙏


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after the ball Emma and Killian explore the autumn park and she struggles whether or not to share her concerns with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day later than I normally go for. I know, I'm sorry! Spent most of this week sick in bed, so I fell woefully behind on my writing, meaning I'm no longer a chapter ahead like I try to be. On the upside, this is the longest chapter yet so I hope it makes up for my tardiness just a little. 😊

“Did you have a good time last night?” Killian asked the next morning as they walked hand in arm around the formal autumn garden, both wrapped in wool cloaks. The day was bright, clear, and cold; frost still lingering on the ground despite the sunshine. Emma “hmmd” to avoid responding and kept her head down, watching her brocade hem swish and the leaves crunch beneath her feet.

The autumn garden was more of a park or bisecting lawns lined by avenues of ornamental trees in warm brilliant hues. There were no fountains like those in the summer garden, flowering bowers as found in the spring quarter, or holly-hedge maze like the winter garden. She looked forward to seeing each of them in full glory.

“You disappeared. I was worried you’d taken ill or perhaps something had upset you.” Emma glanced up into Killian’s concerned face. His eyes were as blue as the day's sky but the lines in his forehead suddenly made him look his age. It struck her just how long he had been carrying all of his concerns—all his worries—on his own and she hated that she was adding to that burden. Even unintentionally.

“I’m sorry I worried you.” Turning away to look ahead at the frosted lawn, blanketed in red and gold patchwork, she shrugged. “I had a bit of a headache and chose to retire early.” She bit the inside of her cheek in frustration at herself.

She’d intended to rail at him for putting her through this ordeal but for some reason his presence made the anger and tension leak out of her. She felt silly and immature for wanting to tattle on Baelfire like a child; weak for letting his small insults raise her ire and intending to foist her burden off on Killian when he had so much on his mind already.

This time it was him who hummed, though she felt it was more out of respect for her than actually believing her words.

“I confess, I had hoped to break my streak and claim a dance with you, but perhaps at my birthday instead?” She gave a weak smile that did nothing to ease the creases in his forehead. “I am meeting with Sir Baelfire this afternoon,” He said, changing topics. “I was able to talk to the council and the majority is amenable to the plan. I thought it best to tell him today.”  
A hot red flush ran up Emma’s neck and face, she wished she had her hood up to hide behind but could only keep her eyes forward, tense. “I know it has made things hard on you, his not knowing.” His voice was full of concern and her jaw ticked as she held back all she wished to say.

“Come.” She felt a gentle tug on her arm as Killian turned them down the side avenue toward a small folly built in sandy-colored stone. A curving staircase led them up the decorative tower, perhaps a story high, with iron lanterns fixed to the battlement. Set on a small incline, it offered a lovely view of the whole park and eastern wing of the palace, as well as glimpses of both the summer and winter gardens.

“Here now.” He released her as they reached the top and she moved to lean against the waist-high battlement, instead of sitting on the small bench cut into the stone. Looking out over the grounds she could just see the abundance of evergreen and winterberry trees in the winter garden.

“It’s beautiful.” She said, for it was and she greatly looked forward to seeing it in the snow. Killian turned to fully face her, she felt his eyes probing.

“I hope you know you can be honest with me, Emma.” She chewed her lip, “I know you are uneasy about something.” He waited in silence as Emma pulled her cloak tighter against the breeze which seemed much colder up here. Still he stood watching her in silence until she eventually gave in.

“Why do you want Sir Baelfire as your heir?” Emma asked evenly, trying not to give in to her frustration—she looked over at him, desperate to understand. “Please, _please_ explain it to me.” He cocked his head curiously, as if that was the last thing he’d expected her to say.

“Ah, yes. I know you’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.” His brow remained furrowed as he frowned, “I am very sorry for it as I had hoped for a more promising start.” There was genuine regret in his face and voice. “However, I told you once before that he is the closest thing I have to a son. Is it not natural that I should want to give him an inheritance as such?”

“Yes, if you were any normal man,” Emma turned back to the landscape, keeping her voice soft but firm, “but you are a king. You are not talking about personal lands or wealth. Who exactly is he to you that you would put your _kingdom_ , your _people_ in his hands?”

There was silence as her words hung in the air, only broken by the sparse leaves rustling in the breeze and the songs of the few birds who refused to fly south for the winter. Killian sighed and turned to take in the prospect beside her.

“A normal man. . .It has been so long since I had any hope of being such.” There was a strange note to his voice that Emma couldn’t identify and she glanced up. “You already know of course that I was never intended for the crown, but what very few realize is that I had absolutely no interest in it either.” He stopped himself for a minute as if mulling over his words, “I-. You must understand, I have not spoken of this for many years.” He paused again and it seemed to her like she could feel the tension coming off him. “Back when I was a young Captain in the Royal Navy, I-I had an affair.”

She nodded. She’d almost started to suspect, but to have it confirmed. . . “So, he _is_ your bastard then,” Emma spoke calmly.

“What? No!” He jerked back to face her looking horrified. “I have NO children, legitimate or otherwise.” A flush came over Emma's face at her own misunderstanding as Killian seemed to gather himself and once again look out over the lawn. “. . .But she did." A deep breath escaped him, "Milah was married to a wealthy merchant, always out at sea or traveling the kingdom, wheeling and dealing. She lived in the navy's port city. . .We fell in love.” 

Emma sunk down onto the low bench and studied his profile. There was such a contradiction of wistfulness and pain in his expression that it struck her perhaps she was sparing herself with her choice of giving up love. “Then one day her husband didn’t return. It was over a year when most concluded he must have died and we took up a more. . .openly amorous relationship.” He flushed. “We didn’t think we had anything to hide, we were planning our wedding and I had become the de facto father to her son, Baelfire, loving him as my own.”

Emma only allowed for a beat of silence before she asked, “What happened?”

“Her husband returned alive, Liam died, and all our plans went up in smoke. Suddenly I was the King, battling a counsel who immediately wanted to marry me off to a foreign princess while she was made to suffer a very public and humiliating divorce. I worked tirelessly for months each day hoping we could be together, and then I received word—she’d died.”

At this Emma looked down. A tear had run down Killian’s cheek and she wanted to give him what privacy she could. It was several minutes—or perhaps the seconds just seemed to stretch painfully—before he carried on.

“Her former husband was nowhere to be found and Baelfire had been left alone so I brought him here and placed him under a knight who needed a page. He was only ten at the time and angry with me because he thought I had abandoned him and his mother. It took several months to start rebuilding our relationship, but I vowed I would make it up to him somehow.”

She chewed her lip staring at her hands as she played with the embroidered trim of her cloak.

“So. . .you will give him a crown.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Forgive me, Killian, but that is what it sounds like.” Her voice wasn’t accusing, far from it, Emma felt sad—a bit defeated. If it was trying to make up for some perceived wrong she did not think it likely she could change his mind. “I understand that he is important to you and you love him, but have yet to hear you say—or witness for myself—anything that makes me think he might be a good ruler.”

“And in your short acquaintance how do you find him?”

“Honestly?” Keeping her head down she looked up at him, not at all sure she should tell him. But to her astonishment, Killian knelt before her and took her hand between two of his own.

“Please,” He said, giving a gentle squeeze and boring into her with his intense, sad blue gaze.

“He is tactless,” She said hollowly, closing her eyes to not see what hurt she may cause him. “The man has no notion of what things are appropriate to say or when a laugh has gone too far. He cares nothing for how he is perceived, is annoyed by propriety and circumspection, and disdains those in diplomatic roles.”

She peeked through her lids to gauge his reaction, afraid he had been angered or pained by her words. Instead, Killian seemed blindsided by her verbal outpouring—blinking, mouth slightly agape.

“That is. . .quite a comprehensive list of faults. But Emma, you must admit you have not known him long enough to know these things with certainty.” She opened her mouth to protest but his expression implored her to let him finish. “Even if it is so, these faults are not insurmountable. I’m sure that when Baelfire understands his role, his attitude will change to reflect it.” He suddenly gave a wry smile but it held no humor. “Besides, there are people with far worse flaws sitting on thrones."

Emma now found herself grasping his hand in return, hoping he would see the importance of what she was trying to convey.

“But Killian, those monarchs you refer to were born into the role, inheriting it through no virtue of their own.” She leaned in, “You have a chance to _choose_ your successor and I fear you are allowing sentiment to cloud your judgment.” Her voice became firmer and slightly incredulous. “He doesn’t even _like_ politics.”

A deep huff passed Killian’s lips and Emma went to withdraw her hand, slightly hurt and confused.

“I’m sorry, and I am not discrediting your concern Emma, truly I understand.” Immediately he removed one hand and kept only a light grip with the other his face apologetic. She could pull away easily if she chose, but the inclination to do so had vanished. In fact, with suddenness, Emma realized she rather appreciated the gentle moment and closeness of sharing such honesty between them. Even if they might disagree, she could not be truly angry at Killian. Perhaps she really _was_ coming to see him as family.

“You may be entirely correct that Baelfire is not suited for the crown,” Killian said simply, the earnestness in his eyes surprised her. “It is only that. . .or rather, I ask you to consider this.” He looked down for a moment and a lock of raven hair fell to brush his forehead. A rush of endearment swept through Emma that she chose not to explore deeper.  
“I was very much like Baelfire when I was a young man. I disdained all of the pomp and ceremony of court, and longed for action as many young men do. I cared so little for the opinions of others that I even had an affair; but once the kingdom was placed on my shoulders I was able to adapt, to mature and change—for the most part.”  
A little self-deprecating grin lifted the corner of his mouth and she found herself smiling back despite the conversation. Whatever Killian said, she could not imagine him being insulting and rude for no reason other than not caring. “I am merely asking that you give Baelfire the opportunity to show that he is willing and able to do the same, once he is aware of his new responsibility.”

As he looked into her eyes imploringly Emma began to think she might be willing to do almost anything for Killian, no matter how skeptical she felt.

“Alright,” She conceded. After all, perhaps he was correct and Baelfire would rise to the challenge. Somehow she doubted it but then, Killian’s brilliant smile and shining eyes seemed to make those uncertainties as fleeting as the leaves swept away by the breeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful comments last chapter! They were soo heartwarming and lovely to receive.
> 
> I'd like your feedback once again here if you'd be so kind. 😉 When I started this it was meant to be a quick short fluff piece and has since grown into more. Not a lot more nor is it extremely off course, but I find myself debating how much of the story to tell now. I know how long (in story time) it will take for everyone to come around to the final conclusion, but how much of that do I include? I know many are not fans of Baelfire but there is a good chunk of time where he and Emma will try and be civil and come to a sort of truce.
> 
> I need to sit down and figure out how much focus to put on that and how much can go in narration since CaptainSwan scenes are what I mostly intended this to be (oh how characters run away with me). . .either way I'd love to hear what you think as I'm brainstorming the next scenes.
> 
> Hope your staying safe and happy May the Fourth and Cinco de Mayo!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A-falconing they go! Short fluffy moment between Emma and Killian while Baelfire is off annoying other people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was researching mounted falconry (or hawking) for this chapter and had to stop myself from getting sucked down the rabbit hole so I could have this to you on time. Because of this, I did not get to edit it at ALL, so please let me know if you catch any glaring mistakes in the comments.  
> I just love this scene to bits and hope you do too!

The heavy thud of the horses' hooves echoed in Emma’s ears, pulse racing in time with her Arabian mount's gait. Behind her, others laughed and yelled to each other, the meaning of their words lost in the wind. The chittering cries of the falcons only added to the exhilarating cacophony and Emma smiled, allowing the feeling to take over. Here there was no politics, no expectation, no reluctant suitor. Perhaps she should just keep riding when the rest of the party stopped and leave her troubles behind.

She sighed. If only life was that simple. Before long she slowed allowing the others to catch up as they reached their destination. The meadow was brown and the trees of the small wood ahead were bare but there had been no snow yet, so, at least it was dry, if not warm. The small grey hawk on her gloved hand chittered from beneath it’s hood, cocking its head back and forth at the lack of movement.

Coming up beside her, Killian sat on a dark bay thoroughbred, his own raptor held aloft. “Well, Emma it seems you are quite the natural, though I can’t say I’m shocked. You are as graceful as a swan whatever you do. I am afraid your nickname may stick!” 

If her face wasn’t already flushed from exertion Emma was sure she’d be blushing. She smiled warmly and gave a little self-deprecating laugh. “You flatter me sir, though my mother would be glad to hear your praise since it was she who encouraged my love of falconry.” Her bird ruffled its feathers at her laughter and Emma soothingly stroked the back of her finger over the hawk’s feathered breast.

“I’m not surprised knowing your mother’s love of birds; however I was under the impression she was more known for her archery when it came to hunting.”

“Yes, but I was never quite her equal at the bow; I preferred learning swordplay with my father.” Her smile turned soft at the thought of her parents and she continued stroking the soft speckled feathers. “This was something she and I shared.”

Their party was small and half had dismounted already, not carrying birds of their own since they were to stir up the game for the falcons. She found she was grateful Sir Baelfire was not among them. 

It had been little over a week since Killian’s talk with the man and to say it had not gone well would be an understatement. While only present for the end of that particular meeting, his enmity had not been concealed. The last words he’d spoken directly to her were after they had left Killian’s study. “You couldn’t say who the players were, your highness; really?” He’d said snidely. “Well I’ll give you credit. your a better bluffer than I supposed.” 

Since then he had been silent toward Emma and avoided her at every opportunity. Like the card party where he’d sat as far from her as was able, the dinner he’d not shown up for, and afternoons spent together pretending she didn’t exist. Not that she was going out of her way to talk to him either. Today he’d claimed that he would “much rather hunt stag than sit upon a horse while a bird does all the work.” So the party had divided and gone in separate directions.

At every turn, he seemed intent to ignore or antagonize. It was especially exhausting since it seemed like he personally blamed her for the new responsibility he was being offered. It would have made her laugh if her future was not so tied up in him.

Indeed if it weren’t for their possible betrothal Emma didn’t think she would give two wits about his treatment of her, for she was far more concerned for Killian. She suspected he was receiving similar treatment from Baelfire—at least the silence—but Killian seemed to be taking it like physical blows. The signs were there in the slight circles beneath his eyes and the weariness of his shoulders, but at least for the moment he seemed happier.

Emma decided to make it her mission to get him to laugh today. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard it and suddenly that felt like a grave sin. 

“So, ladies first?” He asked, and she realized she'd been lost in her own thoughts.

“Hmmm. . .I’ve always been partial to the adage ‘age before beauty’.” She teased in response, earning a low chuckle and quirked half-grin. He leaned forward.

“Well then we’ve quite the conundrum since I possess both those traits.” She tried to contain her surprised laughter at his retort, so as not to jostle the bird too much, but was only partly successful. Killian’s smile was bright and warm, his eyes gleaming. Perhaps he liked making her laugh as well? A teasing smirk spread over Emma’s face.

“Then I suppose I _must_ go first, if only to humble your vanity, My King.” Laughter burst forth from Killian’s mouth, bright and clear in the wintery morning. His eagle threw out its wings, flapping wildly, before settling once again into the King’s sturdy grip. Something golden and warm spread over Emma as she removed her hawk’s hood, the members of their party on the ground getting into position.

“Are you saying you find my person unattractive, Swan?” Killian playfully leaned in. Emma felt something swoop in her belly catching her off guard. Her mouth was suddenly dry, preventing her from answering. “I’ll have you know it takes great effort to maintain this regal bearing,” He spoke with mock offense and then sighed, “And now you’ll tell me it’s all been for naught.” He gave a self-deprecating grin.

Though joking, she knew that he actually must put some care into his physique for no one could deny he was handsome. Between his full head of silver-streaked hair, naturally winsome face, and the lack of gut often present in men his age—even her own father was starting to go soft around the middle—he was immensely attractive. 

She blinked, feeling that she was appreciating his beauty for the first time. Indeed, had she ever met a more pleasing man?

“Emma?” He called her out of her reverie and she realized they were ready for her. Shaking off her thoughts she let the cord go and threw up her arm. The falcon squeezed its talons minutely before releasing and rising into the frosty air with grace, the heavy beat of its wings echoing across the meadow.

*****

The rest of the afternoon was free and easy once Emma had forcefully put her new awareness from her mind. Yes, Killian was attractive—she’d known it logically before—but so were many other men. Besides he was her friend, family even. His appearance should have no bearing on how she saw him. It didn’t really, he was still Killian after all; he’d always been just as he was. 

With the birds back in the custody of their caretakers and the game all packed away, the party headed back to the palace. Once again she found herself pulling ahead of the group, just for the love of sheer freedom that came with riding. This time Killian kept pace beside her.

Their eyes caught, teeth flashing as they laughed and soon they were letting the horses have their heads, racing each other. Killian’s Thoroughbred had the advantage when they set off, but he kept pulling back, almost teasing her. Yet, as they continued he pulled ahead less and near the end, Emma and her Arabian were outstripping him by a good margin. 

Breathless with exhilaration she slowed as she reached the side gate and continued on to the stables to wait for Killian. The other hunting party had returned as well, stag on a wooden cart and a handful of other horses having their tack removed. A groom helped Emma dismount and she just had time to catch sight of Sir Baelfire’s disinterested gaze before Killian arrived laughing breathlessly. He swung himself down with the grace of a man half his age, but also put a hand to his back as he straightened, massaging out either pain or stiffness.

“Good show Swan! I’ve not had a race like that in some time.” He exclaimed with enthusiasm and continued praising the race and her win. Emma peeked back at Baelfire hoping he’d be gone before Killian would see him, she didn’t want the day ruined. However when she looked he was still there and, rather than aloof, he seemed to be watching them with an assessing eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Bay coloring = very dark red/brown often with black stockings, mane, tail, etc.  
> Thoroughbreds are known to be some of the fastest horses and sprinters, however, Arabians are consistently fast and better for endurance. 
> 
> So many Falconing facts in my brain now! Did you know they use eagles and owls as well? Mounted falconry is nearly extinct, especially in the western hemisphere. Wild birds are often used and released at the end of the hunting season; many return the next year, knowing they will be well taken care of in their temporary captivity.  
> Thank you very much for your comments last chapter. They were both helpful and motivating, truly!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another week has gone by. Winter is setting in and a confrontation with Baelfire leads to Emma succumbing to the strain she feels at her situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for those that might need it. There is a "mild" panic/anxiety attack in this chapter if there is really such a thing. I've only experienced one in my life, but have had several blackout moments from health issues, so I pulled on both experiences for this. It was a very difficult thing to write logistically I still feel I didn’t quite capture it correctly, but it is what it is.

The fire crackled and snapped fighting against the dark afternoon. Harsh winds howled around the palace and occasionally rattled the window of the small alcove as sparse snowflakes sped by. It was the first snow and Emma had hoped to enjoy it out of doors. Perhaps by taking a ride or even just walking around the gardens, but there was no entertainment to be had outside on such a bitter afternoon. Instead, she’d cocooned herself in the upper library and lounged on the rug in front of the hearth with a stack of books and her tea tray off to the side.

Killian had council meetings most of the day, so while she might have preferred to have company, she had decided to use her alone time to be productive. Currently, she was absorbed in a book about Glowerhaven’s naval history. A bit dry for her usual tastes but, whatever Kilian had hoped, Baelfire wasn’t going to take pains to teach her about his country, so she’d start herself. The naval history she’d picked out of curiosity since Misthaven had no real navy to speak of while Glowerhaven prided themselves on theirs—also _possibly_ because she knew Killian had a fondness for it.

She was nibbling on a sandwich and reading about the famous blockade of the Dark Kingdom—some two hundred years ago—when a throat cleared just behind her. Emma startled, dropping the bite of sandwich and almost losing her page as she twisted to see who had intruded upon her little sanctuary.

Sir Baelfire was leaning over one of the velvet brocade chairs, arms crossed and resting on the top. Jolting upright, Emma pushed down the discomfort of him finding her in such a relaxed position _and_ the twinge of disappointment that he wasn’t the person she’d hoped. She was still on the floor however, with him looming above her, head cocked to the side. She jutted her chin out in defiance of her unease.

“So, is this what the future Queen does with her days? Lounge in front of a fire reading.” His tone was patronizing. Rolling her eyes, Emma took a deep breath through her nose. She refused to rise to his goading and instead turned away from him, arranging her skirts and replying simply.

“It has yet to be seen that I will be anything of the sort. At the moment I am still only a visiting princess with no official role here. Though, _yes_. I thought it prudent to spend my free time gaining a deeper education of the Kingdom’s history.” She gestured to the stack of books nearby; all large tomes of history and geography. In a slightly more dignified pose, she flipped to the next page of her book to continue reading.

Baelfire didn’t respond and as Emma was no longer looking at him she did not know what his expression might have been, however, her ears stayed alert hoping to catch the sound of fading footsteps as he left her be. Luck did not seem to be with her, though, for as she continued down the page—absorbing only half of what she was reading—his presence lingered.

“Really? What a droll way to spend your afternoon. I knew you were proper but I didn’t realize you were _quite_ such a bore.” His voice had turned lazy but was still goading. Her back stiffened.

“To what end are you still here Sir? You come first to criticize my supposed idleness and then mock me when it becomes apparent that I am actually trying to accomplish something. Your irrational antagonism is _exhausting_.” The wind howled particularly fiercely for a moment and the window rattled.

“That’s rich considering it was you who started this.”

“Me!?” She cried, head jerking back. He shot her a look that implied it was obvious. “You can _not_ be referring to the ball.”

“Can’t I?” Baelfire moved from around the chair, picking up a poker to stir the fire and provoking the flames which had started to wither during their conversation.

“I was asking you to be polite, to show courtesy to others. Not attacking your honor or your person! I do not understand how such a simple request could have earned me your singularly focused disdain.”

“A request? Did you not scold me like a schoolboy?” He sneered but when Emma opened her mouth to refute his claim he held up his hand. “You can deny it with your pretty words but it’s the truth. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so-so _uppity_.” Emma felt the snap and hiss of the new flames as if they were underneath her skin. This man was making it a habit of infuriating her to the point where she was overcome by it. So, she lashed out with her tongue.

“Really? Then perhaps I should purchase you a mirror since you seem to have never looked in one!” Snapping her book shut, Emma shot up from the floor. Baelfire seemed almost caught off guard though she did not understand why. Was not the whole point of this to try and get a rise out of her? She could see him though, about to form some retort, and refused to let this pointless conversation go on any longer.

“Let us be clear about something right now. Contrary to whatever may be floating around in your head I am not here because of _you._ Not to trap you in a marriage you so evidently do not want, not to ruin your life, and certainly not to spend _my_ days being tormented by you for simply being who or what I am! I am here on behalf of my kingdom to forge an alliance that would serve both our peoples and lands. If you want no part of it I pray you simply say so!

With that, she took her book, stormed passed Baelfire and out the closest door only to almost run into the King himself. Unable to speak for the torrent of emotion flowing through her she bobbed a curtsy and fled down the corridor before he could say anything but a sad “Emma.”

It wasn’t till she reached her room and was leaning her back against the door, that she realized hot, angry tears were running down her cheeks. She slammed her fist back against the wood. The future was growing dimmer every day.

*****

It was perhaps an hour or so later that a knock rang out on her door. The steely blue sky had darkened into evening. Emma had not felt up for dining with anyone so Opal had sent for a tray and was now helping her to plait her hair back for bed. As her ladies maid went to receive their dinner tray Emma made her way to the sitting area curling up in her scarlet quilted dressing gown.

It was one of her favorites, with long sleeves that split at her inner elbow and draped beyond the backs of her hands, and tonight was the first since her arrival that she had pulled it out to help combat the freezing temperatures. Palace or no, it was not immune to drafts, and the soft familiar fabric was a comfort.

“My lady. . .” Opal drew her attention as she stood by the open door which blocked the other servant from view.

“What is it, Opal?” Emma asked with a small frown of confusion, wondering why they were not bringing in the tray.

“His Majesty is wondering if you might see him? I-I told him you were already prepared for bed but. . .” Her poor maid shrugged and looked a little lost as to what to do. It took Emma a moment for the words to sink in.

“Killi-” She jumped up. “Yes give me a just moment.” She saw Opal’s shoulders relax as she turned back to the door that Killian was apparently on the other side of. Emma grabbed the shawl she’d been wearing earlier to wrap around her, hiding the snowy white trim of her nightgown left exposed by the outer garment.

At Emma’s nod, Opal stood to the side and curtsied Killian into the room. He came bearing a tray that held not only dishes but also what appeared to be the stack of books she’d left behind in the library. Something small broke in her at his obvious consideration, and she felt herself filled with both affection and a sadness she couldn't explain. He set it on a low table and straightened to look at her.

Standing awkwardly in the middle of her bedchamber, hair in a loose braid and wearing nightclothes though it was only early evening, Emma felt vulnerable in a way she’d never experienced in his presence. Her eyes still felt puffy from her earlier breakdown which did not help her confidence; thankfully Opal puttered around the corner of the room providing a slight comfort to her mistress.

“I understand you were feeling poorly and wished to take supper alone tonight.” Killian began kindly.

“Yes.” Was all she could muster. He nodded.

“I’ve had words with Baelfire, he understands better now I think, but more importantly he understands his treatment of you is unacceptable.” Emma sighed.

“How much did you hear?” She turned and looked out the window arms wrapped around her midsection and fingers pulling the fibers of the shawl taut.

“Enough.” The glower in his voice was evident. “He has asked for an opportunity to make amends, but I leave that up to you whether or not to agree.”

“Of course I will," Emma responded immediately, tonelessly. "What other choice have I other than to be a petty wife who is constantly dueling with her husband?” It was not as if her own feelings on the matter came into account, it was her duty.

“Of course you have a choice Emma, I’ll not force you to marry him.” Killian took a step closer to where she could just see him in her periphery.

“Would you please stop saying that,” Emma said loudly, causing both Killian and Opal to freeze. Ugh. She pressed the tips of her fingers to her forehead and screwed her eyes shut. Why did it feel like she had to be the rational one all the time? First with her parents and now Killian. Didn’t they understand that all of their protestations only made the weight, the responsibility settle more heavily on her own shoulders?

“Saying what?” Killian spoke slowly.

“That I don’t have to marry him. It just makes it harder.” It was silent for a moment and, lowering her hand, Emma realized what she’d let slip out. She bit her lip to the point of pain to hold back her emotions. She had battled with her parent’s over this for months and yet with only a few words Killian made her feel so torn, unsure.

“Emma I-”

“No. Please let me just get this out.” She turned back around to face him. Opal had made herself as unobtrusive as possible, but Emma did not mind. There was nothing that her maid had not already heard or at least guessed over the past year. “I know you are not intending to be cruel, I _know_ that. It’s just- I had already gotten my mind around an arranged marriage. My choice had been made and I was ready to sacrifice my heart for my Kingdom.”

She stated it plainly, a fact, but her fingers were knotted in the shawl clinging to it above the place where her heart galloped in her breast. Her voice was high and strange to her ears when she next spoke.

“You know I had to convince my parents? They fought so hard against the necessity, the inevitability. So I built up my courage and made the choice on my own. I may not have been happy but I was committed.” To her horror, tears were once again spilling over her cheeks, but she could do nothing to stop them. Everything felt so distant.

“Then you come along and tell me to get to know this man. To try to like him and get him to like me before we marry. Even _before_ I knew he hated me it only added to my burden. Another hurdle I had to overcome to do my duty.” Her breaths were heaving and she was certain the room was growing darker more rapidly than it should.

“Because if I do as you say and we don’t marry, then what? I go back to my family? There is nothing for me there except to start this process all over!” Hiccoughing sobs escaped causing both of the people in the room to step toward her, or perhaps the room was shrinking bringing them closer? “I already made the choice once, my strength is gone! I’ve used up all my conviction. If I refuse this now, how can I do it a second ti-ti-” Her knees gave out as she cried and gasped for air, blackness closing in.

She felt herself being supported from the back as hands fluttered over her. Worried, panicked voices called but she could not respond. Someone lifted her up, cradling her like a child. Her face pressed into their neck, inhaling the scent of sandalwood and smoke before she slipped into the comfort of oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has struck me writing the past few chapters how in another writer's hands Emma and Baelfire might end up together because anger leads to hate, which leads to passion which leads to love, I guess? I love P&P as much as the next person and misunderstanding or conflicting sides can definitely be a great place to start a relationship where two people need to grow and be better. (Just look at Emma and Killian in canon!) ^_^
> 
> However, I've realized that it's become a pretty awful romantic trope. I just watched the itv series Sanditon and while I can take the characters out of the story and love them together, in canon the romantic love interest YELLS at the top of his lungs at the heroine two or three times in public and directly insults her in private multiple times through the show. Then he has the gall to say he is his BEST self with her. Sorry buddy, if that's your best self I REALLY don't want to see what your worst self is. (definitely planning on some fix-its of that in the future)
> 
> All that to say, I am enjoying writing something where the man who is purposefully antagonistic and hateful is not going to turn out to be the hero. -_-


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma's reaction to her anxiety attack and fainting episode, plus a lovely little moment while Killian keeps vigil by Emma's bedside.

Several times through the night Emma resurfaced from the realm of sleep to hear hushed voices and the sound of doors, or feel a damp cloth dabbing at her forehead while Opal’s face floated above her. Every time she shied away from consciousness and fell back into the restless darkness.

A weak cold light was pouring through the window when Emma truly awoke, feeling still tired and drawn without truly understanding why. She knew not what time it was, either very early or very late, for everything was quiet now. Not only were there no voices, but the fire had been banked and even the howling winds of the storm had stopped.

Strangely it was this lack of sound that kept her from falling back into her dreams. Her ears seemed to strain listening for the faintest noise, for even the sound of her breathing seemed muffled as her breaths puffed into the chilly air. It was immediately evident that hers was not the only breathing in the room.

To her left Opal was curled up on the sofa, her head peeking out of a warm quilt. More surprising was that Killian had pulled up an armchair next to her bed and was stretched out with his arms and legs crossed tightly, chin almost touching his chest. He appeared to be frowning, even in his sleep.

Emma’s mind flew trying to make sense of the situation. What was he doing here? Why was Opal not in her room? Vaguely recalling her earlier moments of consciousness, she wondered if she’d fallen ill. It would certainly explain why she felt so terrible.

As she struggled to remember, bits and pieces came back to her until her face burned with humiliation. Why had she reacted that way? She’d been so purposeful in keeping her feelings hidden and well regulated. She had been raised to be a Queen after all, holding oneself in check had practically been ingrained in her from childhood. And yet she’d shed tears in front of them. Cried and sobbed and. . .lord, she’d fainted!

A soft groan escaped her. She had been utterly ridiculous. Baelfire was not violent or cruel, he was not fat, old and bald, he was not grotesque or predatory. By all accounts, he was much better than half of the royal candidates she’d been subjected too over the past three years. Yet here she was succumbing to a breakdown at the prospect of marriage to him.

No, that wasn’t quite right, she supposed. The building dread of marrying Baelfire hadn’t helped certainly, but it was the fear of what she would do if the marriage _didn’t_ happen that had been plaguing Emma since that first dinner with Killian.

A weight sat on her chest and she sat up, trying in vain to dislodge it. She was failing him, all of them really, but Killian most of all. He’d given her the opportunity to find affection, even love with her future husband, a feat that she was finding quite impossible. So far she had not managed to even _like_ him.

And now, her friend was surely blaming himself for her meltdown if she knew him at all. It was exactly the kind of thing she’d wanted to avoid. It was not his fault she and Baelfire did not get along, or that she had committed herself to an arranged marriage.

Swinging her legs onto the floor she sat and looked at the older man sadly. She often heard it said that people looked younger in sleep, peaceful, but for Killian there seemed to be no such respite. His brow was as furrowed as ever and his shoulders tense, though, perhaps that was against the cold, Emma thought with a shiver. Slipping from the bed she grabbed her fine wool shawl and brought it to lay about his shoulders.

She reached out wishing to smooth the weariness from his face, but thought better of it and jerked her hand back causing it to just brush against the corner of his jaw; short trimmed beard tickling the tips of her fingers. An unfathomable feeling burst into life and her hand hovered a mere hair's breadth from his lips. He stirred. Snatching back the offending hand, Emma sucked in a breath and froze. The feeling evaporated instantly leaving only an impression, like that of light behind one's eyelids, even as a slumbering Killian resettled and his deep breathing continued. Emma stood clasping her tingling fingers and stumbled back to her bed.

She lay tense and uncertain beneath the quilt wondering at the feeling and trying to understand it, but it slipped through her grasp like water. What she did know was that Killian had become extremely important to her though she didn’t quite understand why or exactly when it had happened.

There was such a desire in her to ease his burdens; even with her parents, it hadn’t been so much about that as it had been about relieving her own discomfort in her situation. She puzzled until she felt just as fraught with emotion as she had before. Around her, the dark shadows lifted slowly until the silvery room waned into muted color and, when soft noises signaled the others waking, Emma rolled over and feigned sleep.

*****

Emma did a lot of feigning over the next few days. Well, feigning and avoiding. She had listened to Killian speak in hushed voices with her maid before he’d left that morning, only pretending to wake several minutes later. Between the humiliation she felt at her breakdown, and the strange unnamed swirling emotion, she couldn’t bear to face Killian.

With affected sickness, she had told Opal to turn away any visitors and then stayed in her room all day under the pretense of being unwell. She could tell her lady's maid was uneasy with turning away Killian, but Opal dutifully enforced Emma’s request, despite his multiple entreaties throughout the day. A few others, concerned for the princess, also tried to visit but were kindly sent on their way, except perhaps Sir Baelfire. His surprising appearance was met with firm refusal of entry by Opal, who almost bordered on rudeness.

Emma had been quite glad to have an excuse to skip _that_ encounter but with every attempt by Killian to see her—and acceptance of refusal, despite it being _his_ palace—she only felt guilt heaping onto her pile of emotions. Perhaps she was making the situation worse but she could not conceive of how to make it better.

The days turned into a week and Emma found excuses to turn down every request Killian made for her company. This was made easier when she began spending her time in corners of the palace where she felt less likely to encounter him. She enjoyed the solace of both the chapel and gallery, wandering and exploring when she felt restless. Rather than take tea in the conservatory, she now ducked down to the kitchens for the small repast.

She avoided the winter garden which would now be in full splendor, and instead would take herself to the spring garden, which did not even have the draw of iced-over fountains to attract the eye as the summer garden did. It was entirely brown and lifeless, the few trees bare and flower beds empty. Eventually she gave it up altogether as it tended to make her feel worse, instead riding out with August or Graham whenever possible.

The blue drawing-room on the first floor became her substitute for the library and Killian’s study when she desired to do something else with her time. She found reading unable to hold her attention. She’d gravitated here remembering the instrument that sat in the corner on her first day.

Music lessons had been a bane to her as a child, but after her brother’s birth and her subsequent travels, she’d found it to be a useful outlet for her feelings when none others were to be had. The harp in particular had called to her, soothed her, in places where her normal activities of swordsmanship or even reading, were not accessible to her as a woman. She had not needed to use it here, but now she turned to this outlet as a way to process and purge the emotion that rolled within her; sometimes loudly.

There was almost certainly a harp in the second-floor music room as well, but she felt more likely that someone would hear and investigate there. The first floor rooms being mostly used for large gatherings were often undisturbed in the normal day to day and also farther away from the man she was hoping to avoid.

Actually, Emma was surprised at how well it was working considering that only two days after her claimed illness, she was found by Sir Baelfire.

On her way back to her room he intercepted her.

“You are looking recovered.” He stated awkwardly as they stood in the corridor.

“Yes, thank you.” She moved to step past him but he moved as well, staying in front of her.

“I do not know if you’ve been informed but I am being sent away.”

“I see. . .” She looked up into his face and braced herself for another attack. “And you blame me?”

“No- That is, it _is_ because of you, but I don’t blame you.” He cringed and ran a hand ruffly through his hair. “Listen, things have gotten out of hand and I know I need to apologize.” Emma nodded. “It’s not your fault we’re in this mess and Killian agrees it would be best if we had some distance. A village in the north is in need of some assistance and I need to figure out if I can even do all _this_.” He waved his hand gesturing to everything around them. Whether he meant being King or marriage or both she didn’t know.

He'd gone on to say he'd be away for at least a fortnight to which Emma replied, “Well then, I wish you a good journey.” And they’d parted without fanfare. Once gone she had breathed freely, grateful for the lack of harsh words but also aware of the distinct lack of apology, despite his assertion that it was intended.

Since that encounter she’d run into several people, but never Killian. As one week turned into two it was becoming glaringly obvious that he was choosing to not seek her out, respecting her unstated desire. Heart heavy, Emma decided it was time to put aside her pride. She was tired of hiding, she had never been a coward but she’d been doing a competent impression these past weeks. That was far more shameful than anything else. No, she missed her friend and could admit it if there were reparations to be made, they needed to be her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last few chapters I've written both for this story and others have been SUPER dialogue heavy. It was refreshing to have a bit of a break and once again dive into Emma's inner world.
> 
> Again, thank you to everyone who comments! I love hearing your thoughts and reactions to the story and characters. It's so much fun and very motivating!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma comes up with a plan to reconnect with Killian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is not only unbeta'd but it is also unedited. I am so sorry, but I promise to come back and do a read through once my one year old lets me get some sleep. I sincerely hope it's legible as well as enjoyable. z z z z zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

It took her another few days of gathering her courage to decide how to approach Killian and mend the breach she’d caused. Several ideas came and went in her mind and approaching him directly seemed insufficient. Then, this morning she’d woken to another snowfall and it came to her.

On her normal visit to the kitchens, she requested a pot of drinking chocolate—such as she enjoyed on special occasions—to be sent to Killian for his afternoon tea. She’d even spiced it herself with her usual cinnamon and a splash of spirits she knew he would enjoy.

Later in the afternoon, rather than using the harp in the blue drawing-room—as had become her custom—she went to the music room. It was a light and airy place with cream fabrics, minty green walls and a large thick oriental rug covering the floor. It felt almost too cool with the wintery scene outside—it had stopped snowing leaving a thick blanket of powder under a clear sky—but a fire was lit in the grate and Emma made herself at home on the cushioned stool next to the harp.

Beside the harp sat a piano in prime place—not unusual—along with a viola, making Emma wonder who might have played it to afford it such distinction. A few other instruments sat on stands or tables along the wall; mostly types of woodwinds and small handheld string instruments.

Checking over her shoulder that the door was left open Emma ran her fingers over the strings and began plucking lightly checking the instrument was in tune. Before long her light playing had morphed into a familiar concerto that helped to ease her tempestuous mood. Now she just had to hope that her overture of drinking chocolate had worked and Killian might hear her playing and seek her out after his business for the day was done.

If he did not, well, her next step was to send a note with Opal inviting him to dinner. She’d debated approaching him directly from the outset but had decided to give him the option of welcoming her company, rather than foisting it on him after such a long absence. After all, she wouldn’t blame him if he was upset with her.

These thoughts circled in her head as she played until the technicality of the piece demanded her attention and she gave herself over to the music. She played thus through the first two movements before the tingle of being watched crept over her and she again looked over her shoulder.

“Please don’t stop on my account,” Killian spoke from the doorway as Emma’s hands froze on the harp, its last notes still clinging to the air. His expression was neutral but his eyes, oh his eyes were devastatingly sad. His hair looked more silver too—though perhaps that was the pale doublet he wore—and his face more lined. “I wanted to thank you for the chocolate and, well, the door was open so I thought-” He stopped himself. “I’ll leave if you wish me to.”

She shook her head unable to speak around the lump in her throat but wishing him with all her heart to stay. A hesitant expression on his face, he stepped into the room and situated himself in a nearby chair.

Emma breathed slowly and turned back to her instrument. This was what she’d been hoping for after all, no need to be anxious now. She went back a few measures from where she’d stopped and allowed her fingers to go once again, dancing freely over the strings.

When the concerto drew to a close Emma took another deep breath, righted the harp, and let her hands fall into her lap. She was unsure of how to say what she wanted, now that they were here.

To her chagrin, it was he who broke the silence first.

“You play beautifully.” She bit her lip, she wasn’t expecting the compliment. If he had asked directly why she had avoided him, or why she had said she only played “a little”, or perhaps if he even refused to speak she would have been less surprised. But he wasn’t prodding or asking and she responded to the simple compliment with a thoughtful ‘hmmm’. She realized that she wished to do more than just apologize. If Emma wanted to extend an olive branch, to heal their friendship, perhaps she should be open with him about this part of herself as well.

“Until my brother came along I never played if I could help it.”

“What changed?” Killian asked and Emma turned to look at him for the first time since she ceased playing.

“I don’t really know. It helped me to pour out my emotions I guess. I’d always used swords and riding for that, but with everything, they just weren’t _enough_. They help me release my anger, frustration, even excitement but. . .”

“The music helps with your pain.” His words were soft and Emma sucked in a breath.

“Yes. Sadness too I think, and other things I don’t always understand. Sometimes it’s as if the harp can take all the confusion inside of me and tell it back to me in a way I can understand.”

He nodded as if her explanation made complete sense, though she felt honestly as if she barely grasped the concept herself. They sat in silence for a minute and Emma realized she needed to fulfill her primary intent. She swallowed, firming up her resolve, and looked him square in the eye.

“I need to ask for your forgiveness.” Killian opened his mouth but Emma held up a hand and pleaded with her eyes for him to let her finish. “I have behaved poorly these past weeks. The manner in which I treated you and our friendship was unconscionable. There is no excuse. I was ashamed of myself and humiliated that you witnessed my. . .” Emma faltered, not knowing how to describe her fit.

“Emma,” Killian leaned forward, elbows balanced on his knees, with hands open as if reaching out to close the distance between them. “Everyone deserves to be vulnerable now and then. You’ve been carrying your burden silently for far longer than I think anyone can guess, there is nothing to be ashamed of about opening up.”

Emma got up from her seat, hands clenching and unclenching.

“Perhaps, though it was not my honesty that I was embarrassed by but rather what followed. I doubt most people faint from simply. . .well regardless, that I can not speak for.” She has begun pacing in front of the harp, a very short circuit that seemed to increase her agitation rather than relieve it. “It is my _actions_ to avoid my own embarrassment, to avoid you that I must apologize for. You are my friend and I took pains to shut you out without caring for your feelings at all. I knew I was likely worrying you, hurting you, but put myself first and treated you abominably.”

“Please Swan, come sit.” He asked in a soft voice and gestured to the matching chair next to his. It was her nickname that did it and he reached out to cover one of her hands with his own as soon as she sat. “I’ll not deny that I was pained to lose your company, your companionship, these last weeks. I have grown so accustomed to your presence here in such a short time and your friendship precious to me. _But,_ I also forgive you.” His head leaned down to catch her eye. “Wholeheartedly.”

A short sharp breath escaped Emma’s lips. She could feel tears stinging the back of her eyes, but not out of sadness.  
“You know I behaved similarly when I lost Milah. With each loss I reacted differently. My mother and sisters, my father, Liam. But Milah was something of a last hope for me. She represented freedom and love and all the things I was desperately trying to hold onto. When she died I locked myself away, refused to go to council meetings, barely ate.” He gave Emma’s hand a squeeze. “There was no one left to care, no one left to answer to, really. I’m _ashamed_ to say I did not even think of Baelfire in that time. I was so caught up in my own pain that it felt like it would choke me most days.”

It genuinely took Emma a moment to realize he was trying to compare their situations, however she couldn’t allow it. He was talking about losing the love of his life, she was simply a girl who had held in too many things until they all erupted out of her in an embarrassing display. Opal, to Emma’s eternal shame, seemed to think she had failed her mistress, and was making it her personal quest to try and get Emma to talk through her feelings more often.

“But _you_ were grieving!”

“As are you.” His words were soft, kind, matter-of-fact. “Grieving a life- a purpose lost, grieving the heart you feel you’ve had to sacrifice. Is that not enough? Mourning is not exclusively for the dead, Emma.” She wanted to argue but found she couldn’t. Instead, she wondered at the strange feelings she’d been having, her breakdown, the crushing weight that led to it. Was that grief?

“How did you- that is to say what helped you to get past it?” She is staring down at her lap as she asks, her hand still in his.

“That’s an interesting way to phrase it. I don’t think you ever fully move past pain and loss. You learn how to bear it better, how to breathe and live despite it. Time helps, and other people. Your mother helped me. Started writing to me after Liam died, always reminding me that I still had family, that I wasn’t alone.”

“Really? I knew you wrote to each other, but I thought it was more. . .perfunctory? It’s hard to picture you two being confidants since I never knew much about you myself.”

“True. I’ve only met Snow twice in my life. Once as a girl after Eva had died, and then at her wedding. But your mother has a very warm and welcoming heart, as I’m sure you know.”

“Yes,” Emma thought fondly of the hodgepodge family that Snow and Charming had made. Such unlikely friends all bound together, mostly by her mother. A smile turned up the corners of Killian's mouth and accentuated the crinkles around his eyes.

“I doubt you’d remember this, but you and your father actually visited me once.” Emma’s eyebrows shot up and she racked her brain, drawing a blank. Had her parents ever mentioned her meeting Killian?

“I don’t remember it at all.”

“Well it was spring, undoubtedly it would have looked very different. But like I said, I would be surprised if you had any memory of it. You couldn’t have been more than four or five, a little ball of sunshine and inquisitiveness.”

Emma had a strange reaction to this, both feeling awkward that he had memories of her as a child but simultaneously wishing she could remember what he’d been like as a younger man.

“Even though your mother was not able to come she lent you both to me at a time when I desperately needed help. That visit helped to ease my pain and loneliness so much more than I think she even hoped.” He sighed and his smile melted away leaving earnestness. “The point is Emma if you want to ‘move past this’ as you said, you’ll need to let others in.”

He leaned over to grasp her other hand—knee lightly brushing against her violet skirt—so that he was holding both. “Leaning on others is how we lighten our burdens and since you have been such a comfort to me I hope you will let me be one such person for you.” With a shaky smile, she nodded.

*****

That night they shared dinner together and began to restore their friendship talking over small innocuous topics, but as Emma lay in bed two things played in her mind. First, she wondered if perhaps Killian might _still_ view her as the shining child he had met so long ago, and it caused a sinking feeling in her gut. She had thought until today that he saw her as an equal, a woman capable of many things including running a kingdom, but now she doubted.

But the second thought was that he had called her friendship precious and her presence a comfort to him. These thoughts chased away her worry and left her warm all over. After all, however Killian saw her, at least Emma knew now that she was important to him as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally had two scenes in mind for this chapter but this one just got out of hand, so yeah. Oh well.
> 
> Thank you for all your comments. As always they helped keep me energized and motivated!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma decides it's time she gives back to Killian by learning more about his passions and hobbies. Her feelings are growing ever harder to ignore though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated June 13, 20. 
> 
> So obviously this is not the original Ch. 14. Also, it is very late, but extra long to make up for it. 
> 
> May it appease my lovely readers.

“So, I was thinking,” Emma said, pausing in her reading. They were in Killian’s study this afternoon, she was continuing her research into Glowerhaven’s history while he looked over a proposal for new trade agreements. Killian looked up from where documents were spread over the large walnut desk and the pair of spectacles perched on his nose made his eyes even bluer, if that was possible.

“Yes?” He asked, cocking his head and Emma had to give herself a mental shake before answering.

“We should do something this afternoon.”

“What did you have in mind?” Emma worried her lip for half a moment and “hmmed” before answering.

“It’s high time we did something you like to do.”

Killian looked baffled at her statement. “We do many things I like to do,” He replied, nonplussed, straightening up in his high backed chair.

“Not _really_.” Emma marked the page of her book and set it on the small table next to her plush, red velvet armchair, “We do things that _I_ like and you just happen to enjoy too.”

“So, because we share the interest it doesn’t count?” He raised an eyebrow and his lips quirked upward. Emma let out an indelicate huff.

“That is not what I mean. Since I arrived you have taken pains to know me and to give me my favorites, whether it be food or entertainment—you are very close to spoiling me sir.”

“Is that a bad thing?” He slipped the spectacles off and laid them on the desk, one hand continuing to toy with them as the smile grew.

She rolled her eyes, “I would like to know more of _your_ interests. I’ve only recently shared my music with you and it has made me wonder what things you enjoy I do not yet know. How did you spend your free time _before_ I arrived?”

The smile retreated, a soft pained look stole its place as Killian looked down at the document he had been reviewing. Emma’s heart sank. Of course, hadn’t he said when she arrived that he was lonely. Perhaps he had not taken pleasure in many things before her arrival. After all, were not many entertainments group activities? She supposed even something like riding could become a stark reminder of one's solitude if that was all you had to return to.

But there must be things he did to enjoy himself or perhaps interests he hadn’t indulged in for many years? This was why she wanted to know after all. If they were friends she wanted to be just as caring and understanding of _his_ needs and hurts and joys as he was proving to be of hers.

“Come, please tell me. I want to share in your interests as you share in mine. It does not have to be anything too dear to your heart if it would make you uneasy.” She added upon further reflection.

Killian tapped his quill against the parchment as if thinking deeply, though his eyes did not seem to be focused on what was in front of him. He glanced out the window that looked down at summer garden, white and gleaming in the crisp clear day. They had only _just_ come in from what was becoming a daily stroll before attending to their early afternoon activities, so Emma rather wondered at his preoccupation with the view.

“I quite enjoy swimming, though this is not the season for it.” He smiled wryly, silent for a minute more. “There is something we might enjoy in the current weather, though I haven't done it in an age.” He drifted off and Emma perked up. “What do you have planned for the rest of the day?”

“Oh! Well, Opal has been after me for a fitting with your birthday ball coming up. But other than that. . .” She shrugged delicately.

“Hmmm. It may not work for today as we’d need to get you the proper equipment,” Emma felt her heart start to sink, “but perhaps I might steal a pair of your boots while you have your fitting and we could go tomorrow when we normally take our walk.” A smile grew once again over his face matching her own. “And. . .there is something else I quite enjoy, a personal passion if you will, though it is also dependent on the weather.”

“Really! What is it?”

“I’d like to keep it a surprise if you don’t mind.”

“You are being purposefully mysterious sir.”

“Yes, well. . .” He shrugged with a smirk, but his eyes were dancing. “However I must ask, how do you feel about rising early?”

“Is this a clue? I believe you already are aware of my predilection for sleep.” Emma wrinkled her nose in a teasing cringe. It was not a secret to anyone that Emma enjoyed a bit of a lie-in, duties or travel sometimes required her to be up early, however she had limits.

“ _Very_ early. I’d say at least two hours before sunrise.” Killian’s smirk widened as her eyes bulged.

“Oh. Well then, forget I said anything at all, for surely sure what you refer to is meant to be torture, not entertainment.” She said with mock seriousness before shooting him a teasing smile to which he laughed heartily and replied.

“How about this. I’ll send one of the night servants to your maid if conditions are favorable tonight and if not we can look forward to tomorrow afternoon, just so long as I can get the blades made it time.”

“Blades? Are we fencing?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” Killian slipped the spectacles back on his face. "Now then, before you go for your fitting come give me your thoughts about this proposal from the Southern Isles.”

*****

Emma gave her opinion on the proposal and asked many questions in return. They ended up having tea before they parted, as Killian would not be able to join her for dinner, and she made sure to send the pair of boots as soon as she reached her room, still curious as to why.

She’d lain down to bed half-hoping half dreading being woken at an unsightly hour, however the conditions must not have been favorable for Emma awoke at her normal time and went about her morning routine. She wrote a letter to her parents, had tea with Lady Jaqueline, visited the stables and watched her knights training in the freshly snow-dusted courtyard.

On another day she might have joined them, but today she was anxious for whatever Killian had in store. Lunch was finished quickly in her room and then Killian was arriving for their adventure.

Bundled in a fur-lined and hooded cape, her warmest dress, and recently returned boots she followed Killian out into the winter garden. He was also wrapped up warmly in dark navy blue and carried a cloth bag over his shoulder that clanged and clanked every time the contents bounced against him.

Everything was blanketed in white aside from the three stone steps that spanned the entire terrace leading from the palace to the garden. The shaped evergreens were charming, but the winterberry with it’s bright color added real interest to the scene.

“I hope your fitting went well yesterday.”

“Quite well.” Emma smiled widely, it was the first dress she’d had made since she arrived and the long-sleeved ruby gown was turning out better than she’d even hoped. “My gown for the ball is almost finished and I’m quite pleased with the result.”

“Then I look forward to seeing it.” Killian’s eyes crinkled with a genuine smile, “Perhaps I shall even be able to claim a dance with the elusive Swan this time.”

“Me, elusive?” Emma jutted out her chin, keeping pace with him as he led them toward the holly maze. “Are not you the one with the reputation for rarely dancing? I did not see you stand up with anyone at the Frost Ball.” Killian gave a long-suffering sigh, eyes glinting with sarcasm as shot a sidelong look her way.

“Indeed it is true. My birthday is always a bit of an exception though. Being in my honor I always open the ball, usually with one of the council members' wives or some such matron.”

“And is this the only dance you partake in?”

“It has been for the past several years. It started as a way to gradually accustom everyone to my bachelor state, no raising expectations I wouldn’t be able to fulfill and all that.”

“And yet you would break this rule to dance with me? Wouldn’t that cause expectation for you to ask other young ladies?” They wound leisurely through the dark green, snow-covered hedges, pops of red berries adding to the effect.

“I wouldn’t though. I thought perhaps you could dance the first with me.” Emma’s breath caught. He was asking her to open the ball with him? It wasn’t the first time she’d performed such an office, even away from her parent’s court, so she didn’t quite understand why it made her chest feel tight with excitement. Until he continued jovially.

“You are a visiting dignitary, at least in the general mind, plus a Princess and my great-niece at that!” She paled, the wonderful feeling becoming a very sudden unease. Her stomach churned. “Opening the ball with you would be almost expected.” He paused speaking, seeming to catch her expression as his own tightened into worry and something else she couldn’t name, but felt might also be tormenting his own stomach.  
“That is. . .if you _want_ to open the ball with me? I have gotten ahead of myself again. I have forgotten good form and have not even asked you. I can, of course, ask another lady such as I typically do if you would rather not-”

“No!” She found herself both sad and thankful that he had misread her reaction, but as he had kept going the word jumped out of her. Stopping in the middle of the maze, Killian faced her fully, eyes wide with surprise. “I- I have no qualms about leading out with you Killian. I should, that is, you did promise me a dance.” She pushed down the nauseous feeling, for whatever his reasoning might be, Emma was certain she did not wish to miss her opportunity to dance with him. He blew out a short sharp breath he must have been holding.

“Then Emma, would you do me the honor of dancing the first with me at the ball?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Their concise answers seemed to help break the tension and soon they were grinning sheepishly at each other. “Perhaps we should continue?” He gestured ahead and Emma nodded.

“You know, I am quite in suspense for what is in that bag of yours and why you required my boots.” She said as they continued on.

“All shall be revealed soon, Swan, just you wait.” They came to the opposite end of the maze around the next turn and exited into a clearing bordered by wilder untamed evergreens and more winterberry. In the center lay a fairly small frozen pond, perhaps a hundred paces wide.

Two stone benches sat on opposite sides of the pond and Killian led them over to the closest and sat down. Still standing, Emma looked around the clearing and back to Killian puzzledly, wondering what she was missing. However everything seemed to snap into place when Killian removed a thin blade attached to what looked like a flat metal footprint with two leather buckles.

“Skøyter!” Killian startled at Emma’s exclamation, though thankfully did not drop the sharp object. He smiled and took out the others as she plopped down next to him.

“You’ve done it before?” He asked, attaching his first blade to his boot.

“Oh! No. But my friend Elsa loves it. She would talk about it all the time trying to convince me to come and visit her during the winter.” She made a face that showed exactly how little it had induced her.

“Elsa of Arendelle I take it?” Emma ‘mhhmm’ her agreement as she wrangled on her own blades. “I’m assuming you don’t have it in Misthaven since you use their word for it?”

“No. Our lakes are far too large and deep and our winters not nearly cold enough for them to freeze solid.”

“Makes sense. Even here I wouldn’t trust just any body of water, but this pond was purposefully created for just such amusement. It’s barely waist deep which allows it to freeze quickly. Even if it were to crack you’d just get wet and cold.”

His own blades secure he leaned over to help make sure hers were properly attached.

“Don’t need any broken ankles before the ball,” He said and then stood offering to help her do the same once he was content with the state of her straps. Emma took his hands and allowed him to help her up, ankles shaking to try and keep her balance.

“You said I used the word from Arendelle,” She said, distracting herself from feeling like a new calf. “What do you call it?” He took a smooth step back onto the ice looking for all the world as if it was his natural state.

“Skating.”

*****

Once Emma got the hang of it they had quite a merry afternoon. Killian was not quite as proficient as he’d first seemed to her and they’d both and their fair share of falls and bruises. Well Emma fell more, but Killian had a harder time getting up from his, mostly because Emma wasn’t nearly skilled enough to help him up without falling over herself.

They were in a heap from just such a situation, laughing so hard that tears ran down their faces and too tired to try and get up again right away when Killian confessed, “You know I actually came out to try and brush up yesterday so I wouldn’t make a fool of myself.” Emma lay next to him on the ice and turned to see his lips curled in a huge, self-deprecating grin.

“You did not!”

“I did so. Dinner with the council was torture and I spent a good hour soaking the bruises afterward. I fear tonight will be a repeat performance.” Emma fairly cackled with amusement as Killian laughed as well.

“I can _not_ believe you practiced.”

“I'm wounded!" He teased. "And _I_ can safely say we’ve found one thing where you don’t embody all the grace of a swan.” Emma let out a feigned gasp and reached over to smack Killian's shoulder.

“How ungallant sir! I shall remember the insult.” She declared pretending to be affronted. He groaned wincing and rubbing at whatever hidden bruise she’d accidentally found.

“And I shall remember the reproof for I am now three times bruised in that one spot I should think.” Stiffly he raised himself up the groan from his mouth sounding almost like a creaky door. “I am far older than the last time I did this.” He smiled wryly.

“When was that?” Emma asked, raising herself up gently, aware of her own sore bottom. “The last time you did this?”

“Oh lord. Ten? Fifteen years ago?” He rose slowly and offered her help up. “Baelfire had come to live here but was still fairly young I think.”

Emma slipped again but he caught her before she completely lost her footing and they picked their way back to the pond's edge. They had talked little of Baelfire since their reconciliation, but Emma couldn’t help notice the man had now been gone nearly a month.

Almost unintentionally Emma had put him from her mind and with Killian knowing how she felt, let herself not think about the situation at all. It was not sustainable—she knew it was not—but she desperately just wanted to enjoy the feeling of being unburdened even if it was a temporary fiction. Having Killian’s company and support made it so much easier to ignore the duty that likely still lay before her. Well, depending on Baelfire, she supposed.

Killian was watching her. She knew he could see the emotions playing across her face as she wasn’t taking the trouble to hide it.

“I received a letter from him, you know.” Her eyebrows scrunched together as she looked down and began unbuckling her ‘skates’ as Killian called them. “He requested some more time and I sent him another mission. He knows he needs to consider this seriously and I think it’s better for both of you to have this space.”

Emma swallowed and nodded. At least he hadn’t just taken off and disappeared. Killian didn’t need that kind of heartbreak.

“I also want you to know I’ve been discussing alternatives with the privy council. If you feel Baelfire isn’t right Emma, just know it, or rather he, isn’t your only option.” Killian’s speech turned stuttering and a little awkward. “The council’s desire to strengthen our ties with Misthaven isn’t fleeting. We are working-. Well. . .Your happiness means a great deal to more than just me-” He was reaching up to scratch behind his ear again and Emma smiled softly at the now-familiar gesture.

“Killian. It’s alright. You’ve taken such care of me; I am not sure there is another person I trust more.” Without thinking, she’d raised a hand to his cheek to stress her sincerity. His cheek was pink and chapped from the cold air, but warm under her palm, and for the first time Emma realized there were hints of red mixed in his salt and pepper beard.

She leaned closer, only catching the unconscious movement when Killian’s eyes widened, darkening a fraction. Clearing her throat she dropped her hand and her eyes. “When Baelfire gets back, we’ll hear what he has to say and deal with it then. In the meantime, I want to focus on the things that are here and now.” She did not say _him,_ though she wanted to. These feelings that kept cropping up were the one thing she hadn’t confessed to him and the foreignness of them left her feeling. . .unsettled. She sought to change the topic. “Speaking of which, do you think tonight the conditions will be favorable for your other mysterious ‘something’?”

She could feel him still looking at her, but he seemed willing to let whatever had just happened pass. From the corner of her eye she saw his throat stretch as he tilted his head back, baffled at why she found it so fascinating.

“Not tonight I think,” He spoke staring up at the silvery clouds that had been present all day. “Perhaps tomorrow but I’ll send the maid if it changes.” He stood dusting off his snowy clothes and assisted her as well. “Now I think it’s high time we went inside and warmed up. Perhaps a pot of chocolate might do the trick?” He smiled widely drawing out her own.

“That,” She replied, choosing to ignore everything except how wonderful she felt in this moment, “sounds perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skøyter is Norwegian for those that might be interested. 
> 
> I had this chapter almost completely ready to publish Tuesday night with only a few small edits needed, then I got dreadfully sick. Not able to even look at a screen for more than a few minutes sick. It wasn't until Friday I was able to look at this chapter realized it was all wrong! The skating scene I was planning for later but it just didn't fit where I had it and this was the only other place I could put it. Thus I did a minor edit of the opening scene and the following two sections were a marathon of writing and proofreading yesterday. Because of this I apologize if there are things that seem not to make sense in the context or major grammar mistakes. (feel free to point them out to me in the comments!)
> 
> In addition, I decided since it was already excessively late and I had blown all preconceived notions of word count with this chapter, I went back and did a chapter restructure by combining chapters 2 & 3\. hahahahaha! Don't ask me why.
> 
> Anyway thank you to those who commented when I normally post and help to keep me accountable!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian shares one of his loves with Emma and they talk about their brothers and unexpected lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (AUTHOR UPDATE: As of last week (June 12th) I merged the former chapters two & three meaning all the chapters have been moved back one. IF you have not read the "skating chapter" it is the new chapter 14 so go back and read it first!)
> 
> Another long chapter for you. Apparently the closer I get to the end the less the chapter word count matters. 🤷 Also, as you can tell I've decided to go ahead and make mood boards for each chapter because I'm not crunched enough for time as it is. 🙄 Anyway, even though I had the beats this chapter in mind for ages the end really gave me a hard time. It turned out well but after three rewrites there's bound to be some scars leftover that I missed.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The days passed and every night Emma went to bed with the strangely hopeful expectation of interrupted sleep. It wasn’t until two nights before the ball that conditions ended up being favorable, though. It seemed as if Emma had just closed her eyes when a gentle shaking roused her from her slumber.

“The King says to come milady.” Opal’s sleepy face floated above her, auburn hair pulled into a soft loose braid over her shoulder. It took a moment for the words to sink in but as soon as they did Emma sat up.

Quietly, Opal helped Emma into her warmest clothes, per Killian’s request. Emma left her hair in its loose braid to avoid keeping Opal up any longer and slipped into her hooded fur-lined cloak and muff as her maid opened the door and gave a bleary grin.

“Go back to sleep Opal, I’ll see you at a decent hour,” Emma said, as much to tease Killian as relieve Opal. He looked far too energetic with his twinkling smile and—standing in a thick fur-lined cape and leather jerkin surrounded by a halo of light from the small lamp he carried—almost like the mythic heroes of old. He lifted it a bit higher and turned slightly to his left.

“Shall we?” His voice was gravelly, so at least she knew he wasn’t immune to the hour. Emma nodded.

Mindful of others who would be sleeping, their journey was quiet as they made their way down the dark corridors, light playing over the walls revealing portraits and landscapes only to recede like a setting sun once they passed by. Even the footfalls of their boots felt hushed to the point where the flicker of the lamps wick and the swish of their clothing seemed to echo. Before long they came to a spiral stair and Emma felt her anticipation mount as the ascended.

She hadn’t thought much about what they might be doing so late at night. Most of her thoughts had been for the inducement of sharing more time with Killian and she’d found she cared little what the actual activity might be beyond it being something he enjoyed.

Emma placed her hand out to keep herself steady, running it along the rough stone wall that reminded her of her parent’s castle. It must be an older part of the palace, for most of the rooms she’d explored were covered with decorative paper or wooden panels.

Every so often the wall dipped away from her fingers to reveal a narrow glass-paned window, cold night air leaking around the edges. Emma counted three windows before they reached the end of the stair and a small circular room with a large table in the middle. There were papers hanging on the walls though Emma could not decipher what was on them in the dim light. Strange objects and unfamiliar metal instruments were scattered about, gleaming dull gold and bronze, and rolls of parchment seemed to be tucked everywhere. Another single small window was set in the curved walls here, opposite a heavy wood and iron door.

At first Emma thought this must be their destination and began studying the various spindly tools until a strong bracing breeze whirled around her. She pulled her cloak tighter and turned to find Killian standing by the now open door, smiling in the soft light. The lamp had been hung on a nearby hook.

“Come.” He gestured with his hand, taking her own when she drew near to help her over the tiny step she likely would have tripped over otherwise. Stepping out onto a wide balcony encircled by a high stone parapet it was obvious they were at the top of one of the spires and, if she wasn’t mistaken, the tallest.

It was a calm, clear night but the wind whistled strongly up here and she had to keep the fabric of her cloak fisted in her hand as it danced about her, trying to let in the cold. Blinking, Emma approached the ledge with caution and looked out over the dark palace and the fields beyond. The village must lay to their back, but the light from the waning moon was minimal and with the height, it was hard to make out exactly what portion of the gardens they were overlooking.

Unconsciously her eyes drifted upward, exchanging the grey blur for the crystal clear view of the infinite heavens. Her breath caught in her throat, mouth hanging open. The inky sky—one second appearing uniform black—transformed into a tapestry of deep blues and purples shot through with diamonds of such multitude that it would take a lifetime to count them all.

“Incredible isn’t it?” She turned back to find Killian watching her in the silvery light, a soft smile on his face. “Would you like to see the principal attraction?”

Emma’s forehead crumpled in confusion, “Is not this it?” Again she’d assumed stargazing was the purpose of their escapade.

“Well, not entirely.” He moved away toward a large canvas covered shape on the right side of the balcony. She hadn’t noticed when they’d first stepped out but even before he pulled the cover off Emma thought she knew what lay beneath. Having seen only a few in her life she was pleased when it was indeed revealed to be a large telescope.

Killian’s smile widened, likely at the look of excited curiosity painting her face.

“I have never seen one quite as grand as that,” She said in way of explanation, a little awe leaking into her voice. “We are really going to use it?”

He cocked his head, forehead bunching curiously. “Of course! Have you used one before?”

“Oh, um yes. Technically.” She thought of the two times a foreign court had brought out something similar for amusement. One was overseen by a man of science who hadn’t bothered to give more than the most basic instructions, clearly considering it a waste of his time. The other was by a King who had fancied himself an astronomer and didn’t seem to know how to work the instrument at all.

“Technically?”

“Well, the few instances I’ve had the opportunity I wasn’t able to see much, or understand what I was meant to see really.” She shrugged delicately and Killian’s face smoothed into determination.

“Well that is about to change.” He bent over the telescope adjusting several nobs and moving the large tube until he had it where he wanted it. “There. Alright, come have a look.” He stayed close as she approached the eyepiece.

Bending down she closed one eye and at first saw nothing but with a tiny tilt of her head the picture became clear. Large stars jumped out at her, far more than she had seen with her own eyes. The colors were also different, some orange, some red, some white or purplish. In the center, they seemed to be caught in a cloud of white and green reminiscent of soapy water.

“What is it?” She breathed, feeling that if she moved too much she might make it disappear. This was the night sky in a way Emma had never known.

“A nebula.” He replied almost as quietly. “That one in particular is called Neverland.”

Every second brought something new into focus. Spots of deepest black and blue peeked through, a haze of red floated at one edge, and one corner of the cloud was an opaque creamy gold. It was layers upon layers of brilliance and color that seemed to go on forever.

“Would you like to see more?” Emma looked over her shoulder, up at Killian who held a look in his eyes she thought must reflect her own.

“Yes.” She said so sincerely that his responding smile took up his entire face.

They spent at least an hour like that, Emma thought. Killian turning the telescope this way and that, adjusting mechanisms and then giving it over to her to view planets and stars and moons that she’d never before dreamed of.

When their fingers became stiff with cold, they abandoned the telescope. Sitting on the balcony floor, Killian pulled out a flagon, uncorked it, and passed it over. Emma took a sip finding the liquid inside rich and sweet. It wasn’t hot but still surprisingly warm and not just from the temperature. The spices on her tongue were familiar and as she swallowed the warmth of alcohol followed the liquid into her belly, thawing her from the inside.

She took another sip before bringing her hand up to catch any drips and passing the flagon back to Killian. “It’s delicious.”

“Hot buttered rum; for nights just such as this.” He winked and took a sip of his own.

They sat looking up at the sky with their own eyes, passing the warming beverage back and forth, gravitating closer to each other's heat as they talked.

“It feels too forested at home to get a whole view of the sky like this. I know that’s not _necessarily_ true, but this is just magnificent.” Killian ‘hmmed’ in response.

“It’s quite a sight.” He sighed and she glanced over to see his lips twitch with a wistful smile. “But I have yet to find anything that quite matches a clear night in the middle of the sea.”

“Mmmm. I think I might have agreed with you before tonight.” With the heavens above and the warmth from Killian radiating along her side as they talked and drank, this was fast becoming one of the loveliest nights she could remember. She flushed, reigning in her thoughts; he’d been talking of the sky, not the company. “I certainly haven’t felt this close to the stars since my last voyage.”

He turned to look at her, smiling softly, and she allowed herself to look at him fully in response. “I forget that you are quite the seafarer yourself.”

“I wouldn’t say that. And _certainly_ not to a former naval captain.” A breathy huff of laughter escaped as she tilted her head back up to the sky. “Sailors seem to treat both the sea and the sky as if they were one entity, knowing them and understanding them as if they were people.”

“Yes. For many, seafaring and the stars go hand in hand. Most sailors know the constellations as well as their own reflection and those who are navigators, rather better.”

She hummed. “Yes, I remember a few trying to teach me some over the years, like. . .” She trailed off as she looked up trying to locate a recognizable pattern. After a moment she had to admit she could only find one, and that, in a part of the sky she didn’t expect.

“Well, you are farther north than your homeland, which would account for the differing placement. And I’m guessing your travels often happened in summer or took you to warmer climes during the winter.” She felt Killian nod at her confirmation. “You’ll find there are many new constellations visible in winter.”

He began naming a few and trying to help her find them in the twinkling masses above. At one point he gently took her hand, directing it to where she should look. Despite the cold air, Emma felt herself growing quite warm. The stars were becoming dim when Emma passed the half-empty flagon to Killian, asking him a question that had been niggling at her.

“Do you ever miss it?”

“It?”

“The sea, sailing, the navy.” She waved her hand suggesting any or all of these things.

“Oh, Aye." He slipped into the sailor's speech she found quite endearing. "If the sea runs in a man's blood, it never really stops calling. As a younger man, I never imagined a life for myself that wasn’t on the sea.”

“Did you always want to be a sailor then?”

“Aye. My mother’s father was a navy man and he passed down the love to me. It was he who taught my brother and me to navigate by the stars, though Liam never had much use for it. Often younger sons become soldiers and knights but I was around six the first time I set foot on my grandfather’s ship and there was never any question for me after that.” He took a drink and offered the beverage back to her.  
“The sea beckoned so to the navy I went. Worked my way up from Ensign to Captain,” There was a proud far away look in Killian’s eyes and Emma found herself leaning against his arm as he spoke. “Liam had hoped I might make Admiral while I was still young, but I was fine with commanding my own ship.” He gave a dry chuckle, still seeing things from a time far gone by. “He was always hoping I’d settle down, be the privy council’s naval advisor, stop ‘galavanting off to the far corners of the earth'.”

The sky was growing lighter as they talked, the moon sinking sluggishly toward the horizon.“You miss him.”

“Everyday.” The faraway look had turned melancholy making her wish she could comfort him in some way.

“I always wished for a sibling,” Emma confessed hoping she might distract him from his thoughts. “It never occurred to me what it might mean, or that I might not even be there to watch them grow up.” She sighed heavily, more of her weight sinking into him as she tipped back another sip of the rum.

“Would you tell me about your brother?” Murmured Killian and she could feel the vibrations from his chest. “What do you miss most about him?”

“Lionel? He’s like any other three-year-old I suppose.” She evaded, she rarely brought her brother up for a reason, but for some reason felt like she could or maybe should with Killian. “I-I hardly know him really. I’ve only ever seen him for a few months or perhaps only weeks at a time before I was off on another ‘diplomatic mission’ to try and find a suitable match.” Her voice turned sad. “I hardly had a chance to know him and now I likely never will.”

“I’ve never really considered what Eva felt toward me, if anything. The fact that you care says a lot, Emma. Even from afar Lionel is lucky to have you.”

“I don’t know about that. I- Well you know I’ve struggled with everything I lost. . .sometimes I just felt so angry.” They sat in silence as the stars disappeared and the sky turned periwinkle. She took another deep drink, it was going cold. She handed it back.

“Do you resent him?” Killian asked in a quiet voice, as if he was afraid of upsetting her. Emma sat up abruptly from where she’d been leaning against him.

“No!” The word was vehement but her hand clenched so that her nails pinched the skin, knowing it wasn’t completely true. “Not anymore, and even then, not r _eally_. He’s just a child. How could I blame him for something he had no control over?” Corking the flagon, Killian took her right hand in his and gave it a squeeze, not letting go.

“We aren’t always rational in our grief and anger.” Yes, she knew this already. Her fainting episode was proof enough of that. However this was something different, something she hadn’t acknowledged out loud to anyone, and she wondered if Killian might be able to understand, if he’d experienced similar feelings. She chewed her lip for a minute.

“Have you ever held it against your brother; blamed him?” He looked at her quizzically and she realized perhaps she should clarify. “Obviously, it wasn’t his _fault_ that he died, just as it wasn’t my brother’s fault that he was born. That’s not what I mean. Just. . .have you ever felt resentful for being displaced from a life that you loved? That was _yours_. For being forced into something you never asked for?”

A knowing look crossed Killian’s eyes as he studied her. “Yes. There have been. . .moments. Dark ones.” “I do not know if my situation was more or less difficult than your own, for I was grieving people at the same time I was mourning my old life, my purpose. I could lay the blame at my brother’s door and rail at him for leaving me this burden and do no harm for he was already gone.”

“In my darkest moments I would wish that he’d—Lionel—had never been born,” Emma whispered, almost hoping he wouldn’t hear the words but needing to say them all the same. “I was so angry myself afterward, but I couldn’t keep from wishing there was someone to blame. He was just a baby but, if not him, who? My parents were just as heartbroken as they were joyful about my brother’s birth. I hated myself for feeling that way.”

She turned her head away from him then looking over to the left where the horizon was turning rose and peach and light yellow. She felt like she’d lain everything bare and wouldn’t blame Killian if he thought badly of her, yet he’d had those dark thoughts too and through all of this, he was still holding her hand.

“Do you still? Have those feelings?” He asked sounding saddened. She gave herself a moment to think it over before she looked down at her lap and answered him.

“Not like I did. . .Maybe not at all since you helped me to see—to understand—a large part of what I was going through. But I guess I have hope that things will be better. . . _I’ll_ be better.”

“I have faith in you Swan. I already see you thriving.”

“Am I?” She asked bemused, running her hand over the fur peeking out from her cloak and watching the fibers shift in the growing light. For the past few years it felt like she’d been barely staying afloat.

“We two have both been displaced as you called it. Though no one’s fault, our lives were turned upside down, our choices taken from us. But we’ve pushed through Swan. We stubbornly survived despite being thrown into the unexpected. I think if anything you’ll find it will only make you stronger.”

“Thank you, Killian.” She squeezed the hand she still held for emphasis, “I don’t know what I’d do without your friendship.” Finally she turned to look up at his eyes. “It means everything to me.”

His responding smile was soft and penetrating and _actually_ everything. The sun must have just crested the horizon for golden light gilded the silver in Killian’s hair and his eyes looked almost turquoise. He looked back out over the balcony at the sunrise, then raised their joined hands and placed a gentle kiss upon hers before tucking it in close to his chest.

“To me as well Swan. To me as well.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I can see the end on the horizon. About five more chapters, give or take? It just depends on how many little scenes I need to help stitch everything together.
> 
> Thank you for the comments as always. I love hearing from each and every one of you.
> 
> The nebula Emma sees (actually likely a galaxy though they wouldn't have known that)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma prepares for the ball and obsesses over the feeling she still can't quite grasp. Thankfully Opal is there to lean on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been weeks and I'm sorry! 
> 
> I took an editing job that's been more time consuming than I expected but I promise I won't let it go so long without an update again. Because of my unintended hiatus, this was a shorter chapter just to get me back into the story before the BIG chapter which does come next! Unbeta'd but I still hope you enjoy.

They’d not stayed long after the sun came up but through the journey back to her room, Emma’s heart sat in her throat. She ate the simple repast of hot porridge and tea Opal laid out for her, while watching out at the peachy sky continue to lighten over the snow-blanketed landscape. Soon though, her eyes were drooping so, shedding her heavy layers, she crawled back into bed.

She borrowed under the blankets and lay her head and palm on the downy pillow. Resting at eye level she stared and stared at her own hand. She could still feel the press of Killian’s lips on the back and feel her heart swollen in her chest as if it had frozen in that exact second.

When she finally drifted back to sleep she wasn’t seeing her hand at all but Killian’s face cast in the first rays of sun.

*****

Over the next day, traveling guests started arriving for the ball in earnest and Emma found herself unable to have a moment alone with Killian, seeing him only at the formal dinner that evening. The next morning she spent curled up in her room reading at her leisure to try and distract herself—with minimal success—until she was required to prepare for the ball.

Her inactivity provided plenty of opportunity for her mind to wander.

As she soaked in her steaming perfumed bath she hoped it might help relax her—the scent of orange blossoms wafting through the air—but alas her mind refused to be silent. She scrubbed her skin to a baby pink trying to drown it out but still, it refused to obey. So lost was she in thought that Opal had to prompt her to leave the bath lest she become pruny.

When she stepped out into a warmed towel to dry, water droplets falling to the polished wooden floor, the thoughts refused to stop. Ducking behind her dressing screen she slipped into her underdress and loose stays before another maid helped her into a robe. Still her mind wouldn’t quiet. As the maids gathered around her applying lotions and light cosmetics and Opal combed fragrant oils through her hair so it shone—twisting it into a simple but elegant updo—Emma’s thoughts continued to circle, always around the same idea.

The echo of Killian’s touch seemed to linger and her mind had gone from a fluttering curiosity to a burning need to know _why_. She hadn’t been even a day without his company and she longed to see him—to understand her reaction. Men had kissed her hand before, she had never felt like this. In addition plenty of men had asked her to dance before, why was Killian’s request any different? 

She knew she found him attractive, yet she’d met plenty of handsome and attractive men so that didn’t explain it. She was a veritable ball of tangled, indecipherable emotion and she wished to escape to the music room and untangle them upon the strings of her harp. The only thing she could truly discern was a desire to hurry up so that she could see Killian. Perhaps then everything would make sense.

“Are you alright Princess?” Opal’s question startled Emma out of her thoughts and her own green eyes met grey in the mirror. As she settled a tiara into the golden locks for a final touch, the lady in waiting elaborated. “You seem. . .agitated.”

“Yes, I mean no.”  Emma stood and replied, at first, to the original question and then realized it might sound like a confirmation to the second and that either way it sounded like an untruth. She flushed, conscious of the other two women present, now waiting by her gown. “That is, I’m just feeling out of sorts.” Opal cocked her head to the side with a knowing look which Emma tried to ignore as she moved to where they would dress her.

Opal was silent as she laced the stays before allowing the maids to help her mistress to step into the heavy scarlet silk. Keeping it from pooling or wrinkling, they slipped it up and over her body, helping her arms into the sleeves. With gratitude, Opal dismissed the other ladies and asked them to send the Princess’s escort as she was almost ready. Emma busied herself in front of the large gilt three-paneled mirror, adjusting the dress’s neckline and bodice to sit correctly. 

“Emma—If I might be so bold. . .” Her lady in waiting began as the door shut and she turned her attention to lacing the gown itself. “. . .perhaps it would help if you talked about it.” A deep sigh escaped Emma.

“How can I talk about it when I hardly understand it myself.” Two days these thoughts had been hovering over her and she felt no closer to any clarity. Though when she thought about it, they went back much farther than that; why hadn't she spent weeks agonizing over something similar? And even before then, the thoughts had been there, only softer and sporadic in nature. It simply seemed that now, she was unable to ignore them any longer. “I feel wrong-footed, like I missed a step on a staircase but I don’t know how or when; I just feel caught off guard and. . .” Her head fell as she tried to speak what she felt while also keeping those same emotions reigned in. “It’s so confusing, frustrating even! I just wish I could make sense of it.

Opal gave a light tug to make sure everything was in place and tied off the ribbon. “There now, give that a try and see if it feels well.” Emma did as asked, twisting a bit, back and forth, rolling her shoulders and lifting her arms, before dipping into a shallow curtsey. More restricted than her day to day, as was expected with any formal gown, but still plenty of movement to dance. Nothing poked or felt out of place. . .she looked up. The silhouette was even better than she’d pictured and she couldn’t help hoping Killian would like it.

“Thank you Opal. Perfect as always.” She smiled as the red-haired lady nodded and bent down to help Emma slide her stockinged feet into her slippers.

“Princess, sometimes things do not always go according to plan,” Opal said softly as she rose and retrieved the small pendant Emma would be wearing tonight. “The very fact that we are here is a testament to that.” Careful of the styled hair, she settled the chain about Emma’s neck and clasped it. “But perhaps the unexpected is not always something to be frightened or wary of.” Coming around to face her Opal one of Emma’s hands and pressed it lightly. “Maybe sometimes the unexpected is the best thing of all.”

Emma squeezed her hand back and inhaled shakily. “How did you get to be so wise?”

“Your Godmother raised me.” Emma huffed a laugh at the dry answer and found tears pricking at her eyes.

“Have I ever told you how grateful I am that you came all this way with me? I have been so focused on my own situation that I’ve not thought how you must be missing our home and family also.”

“Now, please don’t cry, you look like a vision and it would be a shame to waste it with puffy eyes.” Opal’s teasing words were belied by the concern plain on her face. “Besides, you're as good as family too. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d let you come on this adventure alone. All this way by yourself to marry a stranger? Pah!”

Emma blinked back tears as Opal’s more formal manner melted in the casual intimacy they’d shared as girls and grasped her in a tight hug. Opal pulled back soon enough, touching up Emma’s face and ushering her to the door, declaring to the waiting footman that the Princess was ready.

“Now, do try to enjoy yourself tonight and. . .maybe allow yourself to _embrace_ the unexpected rather than hide from it.”

The blonde woman shot a final curious look at the redhead whose eyes seemed altogether too knowing but then the door was shut and Emma was left to follow her escort with the same question still plaguing her even more fiercely. What exactly was this unexpected feeling that she needed to embrace?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Opal was a throwaway character who wasn't even going to be named originally. However, the more I write her the more she burrows into my heart. Also, Emma is being pretty dense about her emotions right now, but Swan is nothing if not stubborn, which Opal would know. Thankfully even Emma has to face her feelings eventually.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the dance!!!
> 
> updated 7/19/20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments on the last chapter.
> 
> For those who like aesthetics, I listened to this song for inspiration as I was writing their dance, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yy5ZJrddpWY.  (from 2015 Cinderella, though I Killian and Emma are dancing more traditional waltz then the one in that movie.)  
> I am so happy to present this chapter to you and without further ado enjoy!
> 
> Unbeta'd

Far from the glittery winter elegance of the previous ball, Emma found the ballroom gleaming with gold and sumptuous reds when she arrived. The smell of flowers rose to meet her; in the buntings, she spotted cockscomb and ranunculus, roses and chrysanthemum, all obviously from the royal hothouse. The effect was so gloriously warm that it was almost enough to forget about the freezing weather outside.

But beyond the difference in decorations, it also seemed to be a somewhat less formal affair. As she descended the staircase many guests were already milling about with servers, weaving through bearing trays of pale-colored wines and hors d'oeuvres, and there were no formal introductions. To her pleasant surprise, the King was not on his dias but socializing among his guests when she spotted him. He had noticed her arrival and was politely nodding to the couple he’d been speaking to as he stepped away.

Unable to contain her smile, Emma beamed as they met each other with a smart bow and curtsy at the bottom of the stair. It reminded her keenly of Killian first inviting her to dinner, but rather than a humorous pantomime there was such a sincerity of feeling in this moment.

“You look positively stunning, Swan.” His voice was low and a pleased flush stole over Emma’s cheeks making her glad that the temperature on the dance floor was marginally cooler than the mezzanine. Killian himself was looking as fine as Emma had ever seen him. He wore a gold-embroidered waistcoat, shot through with crimson, over a crisp white shirt. His long brown dress coat bore a high collar and stiff cuffs reminiscent, again, of military regalia. The front of the shining fabric was covered in the same gold and crimson embroidery, spreading from the open center to taper off at his shoulders and sides.

But more than all this was the man’s shining eyes and the smile that she was beginning to consider _hers_. However her ability to articulate any of this failed her and she merely breathed, “Killian.”

Silently asking for her hand, he wrapped it about his arm. “Come,” he said as he escorted her into the growing throng. “There are some people who have yet to meet you, if you can believe it or not.” Emma’s eyebrows did indeed shoot up in disbelief. She had thought she’d met the entirety of the court over the past few months.

“Really?”

“Mmmm,” He confirmed. “Many of the more wealthy or landed nobles stay at their own estates for the early winter festivities. It’s traditional for the Lords to stay near their local villages to host the celebrations. Only the closest to us and those who are a permanent part of the court attend the ball here, but it’s also why there were many merchants from the surrounding villages that evening who unfortunately won’t be here tonight.” He dropped his voice for a moment as he steered them clear of a very ostentatiously dressed older couple. “Instead we have such _wonderful_ company as Baelfire’s relatives.”

Emma blinked and took a quick peek back at the couple before being sidetracked by an introduction. Everyone was lovely and very courteous, wondering how she was fairing (very well indeed), how the winter compared to Misthaven (surprisingly not as cold due to the lower altitude and nearby sea), and some even having the spirit to ask if she might be persuaded to stay. These were always said with a wink or a laugh, as many already knew what she was there for, but Emma simply laughed in return and assured them she felt quite at home in her new kingdom.

Killian’s smile seemed to fill his whole face whenever she said this and she had to admit her enthusiasm might not have been quite so high if it wasn’t for his reaction. She basked in it, soaking in his presence. The entire time she stayed happily anchored to his arm, which he used to gently guide her from person to person and whenever possible he kept his opposite hand curled over hers.

The crowd had grown and by the time the musicians finished tuning their instruments, it seemed all the guests had arrived—though as Killian suggested, there were not nearly so many as the Frost Ball. The orchestra master nodded toward them and the floor cleared, almost magically, as she and Killian stepped into the center. Emma expected him to release her, at least while he addressed the room, but to her surprise and welling pleasure, he did not.

“Welcome friends. I’ll not take up time with needless words, but instead, state my appreciation at your being here for my birthday. I know it was a long journey for many of you and I hope this evening may bring you joy and entertainment to offset the misfortune of my being born mid-winter.” A titter of laughter traveled around the room. “This is the first birthday in many years that I have also been blessed to have family present to celebrate with and so, in such good company as this and surrounded by such affection, I can only thank you all once again. Maestro are we ready?”

“At your behest, Majesty.”

Only then did Killian let go of her hand to turn and face her properly. With a deep bow, he offered his hand once again which she accepted, moving into position. She’d yet to be held by him like this and the most effervescent feeling spread from her head to her toes. With the sharp rap of the baton, Emma breathed deeply and lightly swayed with Killian as the first notes floated out softly, before falling into the steps of the dance, the tempo light and pleasing.

It had been at least a year since Emma had opened a ball with anyone and the curious gazes of the bystanders were all but forgotten in the freedom of having the entire floor to themselves. Their steps grew bolder as the music started in earnest, widening their path until Killian was sweeping them around the edge of the floor in grand circles. A breathless laugh escaped her at the thrill and, eyes locked on his, the blue in them danced merrily as the sides crinkled with a wide smile. Emma’s heart galloped in her chest as he led her through spins and turns effortlessly until she was almost certain they had left the ground altogether.

They were merely floating through the movements, buoyed by some unnamed emotion that was growing clearer and clearer. Overcome, she gave in completely to the dance, arching through their spins and letting her head tilt back gracefully as they drifted higher into the clouds she was sure they had reached. Time lost all meaning; they’d been here, together, doing this for hours. . .years. . .lifetimes.

Just when she was sure she could feel no more, the arm around her waist tightened and Killian lifted off the floor through their next turn. Her breath caught in her throat as he held her, face inches from his own. Once her slippers were again touching the ground he continued to hold her close, their chests almost touching.

If Emma had cared two whits about anything but how deeply she could sink into his blue eyes at the moment, she might have wondered how they appeared to the watching crowd, but she didn’t. He lifted her again and then again until she was sure her breathing would remain permanently caught and her heart would sprout wings and fly from her chest.

This was it, this feeling that had been so elusive. So new and precious. She was being dipped back now, arching into a deep curve in his arms and never wanting this moment to end. For as he brought her up slowly, the only thought in her head was a wish that he would draw her even closer and kiss her.

Undeniably, her eyes dropped to his lips as she stood in his arms. It seemed to her as if his own breath caught in that moment but she couldn’t be sure, for the sudden clapping had them both blinking and certainly brought her back to earth. The music had ceased and Killian released her to step back and bow his head as she sunk into a deep curtsy. When she rose again the next song was already starting and other couples were spilling onto the floor around them, but Killian still stood before her.

She loved him.

_Oh,_ how she loved him! What a fool she was not to see. But what would it mean? Did he feel the same? Emma’s head was still spinning as he stepped forward to escort her out of the current dance and back into the crowd of bystanders. They were immediately inundated with compliments and questions and Emma was a bit too occupied to bother taking notice of the subtleties that gave away the sincere from those digging for gossip. Oh what she would give to have a short while to process, compose herself, and—above all—to talk to Killian in private. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY!!! Emma finally got there. Now we're not quite through yet, we've got a continuation of the ball coming up next and then about five*ish chapters to the finish line, and a last little hurdle or two, but it's getting so close guys! Also my husband helped me use photoshop for the first time to create this mood board, so overall I'm just ecstatic about this chapter.
> 
> The coat that I took partial inspiration from for the embroidery on Killian's jacket.  
> 
> 
> Comments are lovely little gifts that I open like a child on Christmas morning! 😊


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ball continues and Emma grapples with unwelcome news in addition to her new found love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a couple things but I'll address most of them below. Mainly I want to let you know the ended of the last chapter (17) has changed. I was wrestling and wrestling with this chapter for ages until I realized I just needed to go back a little and reorder events. It's a very tiny change, basically I just removed them running into Baelfire's family at the end of the chapter. So if you're wondering what happened and why this beginning doesn't seem to line up, that's why.

However, a conversation with Killian was not to be. Though she would have happily spent the whole evening on his arm if they couldn’t get away, very shortly she was again requested on the dance floor, so even that was impossible.

Over and over she was swept out onto the dance floor by knights and lords, longing to go back to Killian all the while. To hide her distraction, she merely smiled and nodded, surreptitiously keeping the King in her peripherals whenever able. It was likely her own desire but she thought he might be following her with his eyes as well. Twice she’d been able to make it back to his side, only to have people demanding their attention wherever they turned, and then to leave once more, disappointed, for the following dance.

Finally after what seemed like hours, the banquet was announced providing an intermission to the dancing and giving Emma both a much needed rest and her wish of being in the King's company.

Escorting her to the high table of the smaller banquet hall, Killian offered her the seat beside him which she ecstatically sunk into. The red and gold color scheme carried over and again she smelled the cockscomb and roses adorning the tables dotting the hall. Glass beads hung from the centerpieces reflecting the light of the golden candelabras. No one sat opposite them to impede their view of the room, so as to allow for any well wishers to approach the King’s table, but on either side sat the highest ranking nobles. Directly next to Emma sat a duchess who, while not unkind, was too inebriated for sensible conversation.

As they cut into the roast meats and tender vegetables the woman went on about the lovely evening and how she wished to return to her youth—though she could not have been more than thirty—and how her days of revelry were drawing to a close, so Emma must enjoy her own while she could. It almost made her melancholy until, in the next breath the woman began lamenting leaving her young children for she would much rather be with them and then again wishing she could go back to the days before she’d had children. On the whole, it seemed the presence of alcohol simply made the duchess morose.

Killian caught Emma’s eye with a secret smile as the woman waffled back and forth telling glowing stories of her children and wishing them gone the next. The princess had to press a napkin to her lips to repress a laugh. Still, sharing that moment with Killian and knowing her true feelings while hearing the woman’s stories of motherhood caused something funny within her.

Though she’d been working toward an arranged marriage for years, Emma had never thought much beyond the act of marrying itself. Never allowed herself to process more than the political ties and advantages keeping any thoughts of heirs, of children, untouched in the back of her mind. Yet suddenly that door was thrown wide open and she could picture it so clearly. A little boy with his blue eyes and crooked smile. A daughter whose thick black curls would bounce around her wildly. . .

So lost was Emma in her sudden thoughts of a bright future, that she did not notice the approaching couple until they were standing directly in front of the table. The very same gaudy couple Killian had steered them away from earlier. The lady’s deep purple dress and her partner’s green ensemble combined to resemble a bruise when standing next to each other and clashed terribly with the surroundings.

From the moment she noticed them, Emma felt as if she'd met these people a hundred times, but not from their garish attire. Rather, it was the sour and pretentious looks upon their faces that contorted into insincere smiles as they bowed and curtsied respectively; “Your Majesty.”

Emma took a deep breath to gird herself as Killian performed the introductions with little enthusiasm in his voice.

“Princess, allow me to introduce you to Lord Malcom and Lady Fiona, Sir Baelfire’s uncle and aunt. Their estate takes up a good portion of our northern border.” His words were everything cordial, but Emma could see the tightness in his eyes and the corners of his mouth. “Lord Malcom, Lady Fiona, I present Her Royal Highness, Princess Emma of Misthaven and member of the Royal House of Glowerhaven.”

“A pleasure.” Emma greeted with a deferential tilt of her head. Her thoughts raced. Were these sour people Milah’s family? Emma couldn’t quite imagine the lady Killian described being related to these two but maybe that was why he seemed tense? Or. . .perhaps it was the other side they hailed from. Killian’s next words were, perhaps, more eye opening.

“I must say, I am surprised to see you here. I can’t recall the last time you attended court for my birthday.”

“You are exaggerating I’m sure,” The Lady simpered through a pinched smile. “How could we miss it?” She paused for a moment, a glint in her eye. “Of course, we’ve been hearing all about Eva’s granddaughter and _had_ to come see what all the fuss was about.” Fiona’s smile was now more of a smirk as she bowed her head in the princess’ direction.

Emma internally ground her teeth but smiled civilly on the outside. She wanted a glass of wine to fortify her for whatever this was, but the duchess seemed to have mistakenly grabbed Emma’s when her own was empty. “I was her contemporary at court you know. . .there is very little resemblance between you.” Emma had to fight to keep her jaw from dropping. It certainly seemed like Baelfire had come across his talent for backhanded insinuations honestly. With a slight raise of her chin and heightened eyebrow Emma looked straight in the other woman’s eye.

“Indeed? That is strange, for my mother is her double and I have been told my whole life how much we are alike. Aside from my coloring of course, but I have always been glad to have something from my father, as well.”

Killian pressed his hand over hers which rested on the table. For a moment she froze, afraid he might be cautioning her, but then his thumb grazed over her knuckles and she felt warmth bubbling up in her chest.

“Your eyes are the spitting image of your grandmother’s in her portrait,” He offered as Emma turned to find him looking at her warmly, a half smile upon his lips. “I saw it the moment you arrived.” She blinked and held his eyes until an impolite cough caused him to pull them away from hers back to the other couple. His hand withdrew as well and Emma flushed at the intimacy they’d shared in public. “But really, it is not so surprising you don’t remember her all that well Fiona,” Killian continued.” It’s been nearly fifty years since she left after all and even her friends have forgotten many of the particulars.”

The group was quiet as Fiona registered the implied set down. The older lady flushed angrily but dared not say anything in the vicinity of the King’s stone faced stare. Lord Malcom on the other hand seemed to care little for his wife’s distress and stood appraising Emma in a way that also reminded her strongly of Baelfire, but with a calculating coldness the younger man thankfully lacked. Her shoulders tensed slightly. Yes, while Baelfire sought to amuse himself, this man certainly had other things in mind and it was he who broke the momentary silence.

“Yes, well, wherever it comes from your beauty is undeniable.” His voice was greasy and gave her the sensation of being exposed. “It seems our nephew has found himself quite the bride, and a princess to boot.” Emma sputtered caught completely off guard by the comment. No one but the King’s Privy Council was supposed to know of that outside of her, Baelfire, and Killian.

“Excuse me?” Her voice rose higher than normal, eyes bulging. However, her own question was lost under Killian’s ire.

“Where did you hear such a thing?” His sharp voice drew curious glances from their neighbors.

“Why, you must know I am close friends with several of the privy council members, they just happen to let it slip—I must say that I was overwhelmed when I heard you’d be honoring him in such a way. King! How well that-”

“Shut your god forsaken trap, sir.” Killian stood, his voice low and intense as he leaned over the table, but the couple barely reacted. “You know not what you speak of and airing such gossip is beneath your age and station.” That caused a slight flush over the man’s cheeks but Emma half believed it was from anger at the set down rather than embarrassment.

A few people were watching them with interest now and Killian must have noticed the onlookers, for he visibly relaxed and sat back down. Though when Emma placed a soothing hand on his arm she could still feel the tension. His next words were quiet and restrained so that it would be impossible for any beyond their immediate neighbors to hear. “I will have a private word with you after the banquet and until then I expect you to speak not a word to anyone. Understood?”

“Of course, your Majesty.” The man oiled and Killian waved them away. The rest of the banquet’s conversation was stilted, at least for Emma as Killian was preoccupied by what had passed and she was preoccupied by him. Well, worry for him, and for what it meant that Lord Malcom knew such a thing and seemed keen to declare it openly. This led to ignoring completely her other conversation partner, who did not seem too bothered, and trying to discern if it would be proper for her to ask to be a part of the King’s talk with the Lord. She wished twice over now to have her own private conversation with the man next to her.

As the feast wound down he beckoned a footman to his side and whispering to his bent ear, sent the servant off. Emma watched his progress, first to Sir Anton and then to collect Lord Malcom and escort him discreetly from the hall.

Killian stood then and offered his hand to Emma. The instruments could already be heard warming back up. As they walked back to the ballroom he leaned down to speak into her ear; his breath causing goosebumps to erupt over her neck.

“I am sorry, but I must go and take care of this. If you're willing, I asked Anton to dance the next with you and help you keep things moving smoothly. Do you mind?” It took a few seconds for his words to sink in as focused as she was on the very feeling of them and by the time she did, Sir Anton himself had appeared. The desire to ask Killian to let her join him died on her tongue. It was true that the King’s absence could be noted, but if the princess was missing as well it would be an insult to the guests. Someone needed to continue acting as host and she could help to distract from his absence. She nodded, before realizing her mistake.

“I don’t mind,” she spoke back just as softly, heart sinking when he kissed her hand and stepped away, leaving her with Sir Anton at the ballroom door.

Emma watched him as he made his way down the corridor and disappeared around the corner, then turned to find Sir Anton smiling sympathetically at her.

*****

The evening passed slowly without Killian, despite that she danced and talked and pretended to laugh. She kept a public smile affixed to her face and a sharp eye out for his return as her dance partners talked. Once, losing hope that Killian would return at all, she sighed deeply.

Unfortunately her poor neglected partner took it as a rebuff and stuttered an apology before falling red-faced and silent. Cringing at her mistake, Emma made her own apology for her absent-mindedness, claiming fatigue, and added a few comments about a topic she knew he’d mentioned, though she hadn’t heard a word of what he’d been saying about it. Thankfully he took the encouragement and continued on as before.

She was finishing a cotillion, which provided a rest from attending too much to a conversation as she passed from one partner to the next in a circle, when her eyes finally caught him upon the royal dias. The music ceased as they made an announcement of the last entertainment for the evening and invited the guests to the balcony overlooking the frozen summer garden.

Against the throng Emma tried to make her way to Killian, only to lose him and allow herself to be swept outside. Ladies around her shivered and Emma was grateful for her full sleeves. She craned her neck, this way and that, looking for Killian in the dim light when a sudden explosion cast a blue glow over them all.

It was he who found her then in the light of the fireworks bursting overhead, wearing a similar public face to her own amidst the “oohs” and “awws” of the crowd. Her heart lifted as he drew to her side, but the tightened corners of his eyes and mouth told of a worry that made her stomach twist in an unpleasant way. Not even the hand he placed upon her lower back could erase it.

Once again he leaned in to whisper to her, “We will talk tomorrow, but it is not as easily solved as I hoped. I must leave two days hence.”

She nodded and bit her lip to keep from protesting, from demanding to know now, then turned to look up pretending to watch the dazzling show. The colors blurred behind a sheen unshed tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was particularly difficult, and not (completely) for my normal reasons. I currently have my dominant hand in a hard splint/brace and am tentatively being diagnosed with tendonitis, though the longer it goes on the less likely that seems to be. In other words, I've been having increasingly severe pain and stiffness (even numbness) in my right hand and forearm, meaning I'm having to take care of my 16-month-old and battle out my writing and editing one-handed. I don't think I've ever been more frustrated in my life over normal day to day things!
> 
> Getting this chapter done felt like climbing a mountain with sheer determination and obviously I am several days behind my normal upload schedule. I feel so relieved to have it done and at the same time want to curl up and cry because that just means I have to start the next chapter. I've never had such a hard time getting my thoughts out and rearranging/editing anything makes me want to tear my face off with anxiety. 
> 
> All that melodrama to say, while it's getting easier to work one-handed, please be patient with me.
> 
> As for the story, I had so many edits of this and the ending has changed several times. I'm still not completely happy with it as I felt Emma had more to say at least internally, and a couple times I was doubting about Killian's characterization in the chapter, but honestly I just wanted it done! I may come back later so feel free to share your thoughts. Did it feel rushed?
> 
> *Fiona was actually several years younger than Eva so to say she was her contemporary was stretching a bit.
> 
> Much Love!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian explains why he must leave and we hear word of Baelfire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited, but I hope you can forgive me and enjoy it anyway. Please let me know if you find any egregious errors!

Despite the late night, Emma slept little. Her mind bounced back and forth from the realization of her feelings, to the unpleasant encounter, and what Killian meant by needing to leave. These thoughts plagued her so much that as soon as the sun was up the next morning she set out to find the King, not even considering that he might still be in bed. Thankfully he wasn’t.

Instead, she found him ensconced in his study, sitting not behind his desk—where a breakfast tray sat untouched—but rather in the same chair she often used, a folded and creased page in his hands. The early morning light made his hair appear grayer, or perhaps that was just Emma's imagination. So lost in thought was he, that he didn’t seem to register her presence until she was lowering herself into the matching chair opposite him. The lines under his eyes were deep and dark when Killian raised his head. As Emma took him in she realized his rumpled white shirt must have been from the evening before. He looked exhausted, shoulders slumped even as he attempted a smile at her presence; only one side of his lips quirked upward.

"Well, not everything went as planned last night." Killian tried to joke, all the while he fiddled with the piece of paper in his hands, drawing Emma's eyes. “Besides his gossip, it seems Lord Malcolm had something else to deliver.” He tapped his finger along a folded crease as if debating and then with a deep breath he placed it on the small table between them. “A letter from Baelfire, which makes our situation more difficult.” Up until this point Emma had experienced unease and a bit of worry, but now a true single drop of fear slid down her spine. He gestured to the letter and sighed.  
“You're welcome to read it. Apparently Lord Malcolm has been very loose-lipped with his expectation that Baelfire will accede the throne and Baelfire has asked for my help tempering the rumors. You'll also see that he seems to have gotten himself in a bit of trouble, though he doesn't say what precisely. It is for the second thing that he requests me to come personally." Killian stood and moved to stir the few smoldering embers left in the fireplace, allowing Emma to scan the letter herself.

It certainly seemed like a Baelfire was in over his head, whatever might be going on. He'd apparently gone to stay with his aunt and uncle after finishing his last mission, only to be blindsided with a welcome as the Future King. He didn't think it had made it far beyond his uncle's lands but, in them, it was a well-known and highly celebrated fact. The other thing he only alluded to, but with a sense of great upset and urgency; Emma could not make heads or tails of what might cause such agitation in the normally cavalier man. He practically begged his father figure to come give him advice and wisdom in a situation he “did not feel equipped to handle".

Emma looked up to where Killian was watching a new log beginning to catch. Without a word she stood and went over to the breakfast tray. The tea, while not piping hot, was still sufficiently warm to drink. Her love remained with his hands clasped behind his back, unaware as she prepared a cup as well as a small plate of food.

"Come,” she said, taking them to the little table by his abandoned chair. "You must eat something.”

Hey turned then to see her offering, face surprised but not free of worry. "Emma, I– "

"Please," she walked over to him and hesitantly placed a hand upon his arm. "It won't anyone any good to neglect yourself." She could still see reticence in his eyes and so pushed a bit more. "If not for yourself at least eat a little for me, otherwise I'll spend my time worrying for you."

With a tired, sad smile he agreed and moved back to his chair, methodically picking at his food. Emma waited until he had eaten half and retrieved the set-aside letter before speaking again.

"Killian, what is it that has you worried so? Certainly gossip can be set right with facts, though it may take a while for things to settle. I'm not sure I understand. "

“Nor do I really.” He straightened and sat his teacup back down on its saucer. “Baelfire is not the type to write regularly and in all our infrequent correspondence never has he asked for my aid.” His tone was lost and her fingers tightened involuntarily on the page.

“So, you do think it’s quite serious then.”

“I believe so. And not just this other matter he skirts. One of the larger hindrances to Baelfire being my successor was how it would be received. Of course, there was the worry about him not having Royal Blood, but just as concerning was that some other family might consider it a snub, a show favoritism. We hoped this wouldn’t be an issue as Baelfire has spent very little time with his relations on his father's side; just a week here or there throughout his adolescence and it is well known that he was my ward.” Elbow propped on the chair arm his forehead sunk down to be supported by his hand. “Now with Malcolm toting his great triumph, the Nobles could very well rise up; his allies in support and his enemies in vehement protest. It is everything we hoped to avoid.”

"And by leaving you hope it might still be?”

“That I am uncertain of, but I at least hope to suss out the situation for myself, see if it is as bad as Baelfire's urgency suggests. ”

“I see. I could come with you then; you shouldn’t be having to deal with this on your own."

"Thank you, Swan.” Though still subdued, a real smile touched Killian’s face at her offer. “I would like nothing better but I have need of your help here, on two fronts."

She leaned forward in encouragement, prompting him to go on, “Yes?”

“Many Lords & Ladies will stay on, to enjoy some time at court before going back to their estates for the spring planting. I'm afraid of what. . . _chaos_ Lord Malcolm and Lady Fiona may cause here if they stay and we both leave. Your presence, I hope, would help to quell the bulk of the rumors.” She nodded in understanding. Though lacking in her formative years, court games and intrigue had become second nature over her travels.  
“In addition, and truthfully _more_ importantly, I've been talking with the Privy Council about your future role. With everything that is happening it's not the time to go into details, however, while I’m gone, I would like you to take over the royal duties in my stead: sit in on the council meetings, oversee the weekly audiences, play hostess to the remaining nobles, that sort of thing. With everything we've discussed the council should accept this easily and it would give you a chance to test the waters as sovereign.” He caught his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. “Ah. . .that is, if you agree?”

Emma’s heart felt torn in two. A chance to use the education she’d been given, to stretch her wings in a way she hadn’t been able since her brother’s birth had been announced, fulfill her potential, even if only temporarily? It sounded wonderful! Yet, it also meant being separated from the man she had only just come to realize she loved. It was this that infused her words with a tiny bit of doubt.

“And this would be the most helpful to _you_?”

“Incredibly so.” Looking down, It was her turn to bite her lip as she took a silent, deep breath through her nose.

“How long will you be gone?” She felt a vague pride at the steadiness of her voice. Her agreement didn’t hang on the length of his journey, but she still couldn’t help asking anyway.

“Much of that depends on Baelfire, but I hope I should be gone only for a few weeks at the most.” They were both quiet for a moment, Emma processing everything before straightening her spine and looking him in the eye.

“Alright, I am entirely at your disposal.” The relief on Killian’s face was palpable.

*****

That afternoon—after he had taken a nap that she had insisted on—Killian introduced Emma to the council and laid out the plan for his absence. Made up of mostly older men representing the military, the treasury, foreign affairs, etc., Emma was surprised to find herself welcomed so graciously. Indeed, Admiral Schmeeckle, whom Killian fondly called Smee from his time serving with him in the navy, was quite friendly and offered Emma a listening ear if she found herself needing it.

Once everything was set, Killian was then off to pack and finalize the personal preparations for his journey. Emma did not see him at all until dinner where he made an appearance for the guests—Lord Malcolm and Lady Fiona being conspicuously absent—before making his excuses and turning in early. Emma stayed, leading everyone to a large sitting room for after supper conversation and music, while wishing she could have spent the evening quietly in the family sitting room with Killian.

It was not until the next morning, standing on the steps of the palace surrounded by the few others who would leave with the King or had come to bear him farewell, that she had a brief moment with him.

Sir Liam and Sir Will were among the knights attending the King and as she wished them well she felt another presence step behind her. It seemed like everyone else melted away as she turned to the deep blue eyes and silver-streaked hair of the man she loved. He looked better rested than the previous morning but still troubled as he reached out to take her hands in his. Emma’s heart skipped in her chest

“Swan, I’m sorry that it has come to this, and so quickly. Indeed, I have become so used to your presence that I find myself trying to rationalize not going.” A gentle smile teased her lips at his soft-spoken confession, but inside she longed to know what exactly he meant. Did he feel the same or was this the attachment of family and close relations?

“No. You said yourself you must go and help Baelfire. However, I shall not say that you are the only one mourning the separation. . .” She trailed off wishing more than anything she could confess how she felt and ask him not to go. Instead, she held herself back merely whispering, “I shall miss you dearly.”

Her throat felt tight and it took her a moment to realize his hands had tightened on hers as well. She glanced down at them seeing her hands in his, they fit perfectly. Suddenly called away, he lifted one of her hands and pressed a kiss to the back.

Before long, she was looking down at him and the knights mounting—some laughing and joking—in the early morning sun, Killian remained stoic. But just before they urged their horses into motion he threw a last glance and a wave up to the farewell party, she wished it looked wistful, though it was too far away to really tell. Still, as the men departed through the gate and the King's form disappeared from view, she couldn’t help wishing she had been brave enough to tell him and been able to send him off with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trying a lot of different typing options at the moment: one-handed, docs voice typing, my phone, even dictating to my husband once when he happened to be home and not changing diapers as has become his task while I remain invalid. Anywho I was able to cobble it together. Originally I wanted to go longer, covering Emma's first few days as regent, but I also wanted to get this posted and with how slow my typing it going. . .well, let's just say I didn't want to make you wait another week.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma gets a taste of life as a Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd
> 
> This and the next chapter which I will be uploading tomorrow were originally one until I realized I was reaching about 5,000 words. But this means you get to updates back to back so please enjoy!

After Killian left it seemed as if Lord Malcolm and Lady Fiona magically reappeared. Absent since the ball, they descended for the morning walk Emma led out through the gardens, then seemed to pop up everywhere she went throughout the day. At luncheon, in the sitting room where she entertained and hosted afternoon tea, at supper, and in the music room that evening. Their presence was a blight but thankfully they’d yet to approach her directly.

The next day provided an excuse for her to avoid them through much of it, as she began several of her duties as regent. Emma quite happily took to her new role and spent her time in Killian’s study going over correspondence, legislation, trade agreements, and domestic disputes. No one was allowed to bother her while working other than council members or court officials, so she was quite safe from unwanted interruption. Indeed she was so keen on her job and enjoying her privacy, that she had Opal bring her luncheon and sent her apologies to the guests as she familiarized herself with everything that Killian had left in his rushed departure.

She did finally descend that evening for supper, again apologizing graciously. Surprisingly, Lord Malcolm & Lady Fiona did not attempt to approach her, instead talking quietly with their dinner partners, though they looked her way often. Emma found herself watching them quite closely, in fact almost exclusively, so that it wasn’t until supper was nearly over, that she saw another lady looking at her oddly, only to turn away when noticed.

Internally Emma shrugged. There were people of all opinions and temperaments at any court, it was her duty not to be affected by them.

The next day went by similarly, Emma finding she had discovered a full-proof way to avoid the unwanted pair by using her responsibilities. It wasn’t a chore though. She truly hadn’t realized how much she had missed using her mind and doing something really meaningful with it. Of course, Killian had been slowly including her more and more into his daily tasks and asking for her opinions but the majority of her effort for the past three years had been focused on marriage. She felt free, holed up in the small study, and closer to him as well.

However, when she came down for supper again, something felt off. She froze for a moment, in her seat, when she realized this and looked around. Though only a handful, there were several people who seemed to intentionally _not_ be looking at her, while surreptitiously glancing out the corner of their eyes. Assuming a regal air, Emma turned back to her food and conversation partners, who also seemed a bit distant, though she had spoken to both before amicably.

The planned amusement for the evening was cards and it was on the way to the room where tables had been set up that Admiral Smee drew up beside her.

“Your Highness,” He spoke discreetly. “If you’d permit me a word?”

“Of course.” She paused, stepping to the side to allow the others around her to carry on.

“I’ve noticed you have been quite absent the past two days.” Her easy smile for Killian’s old naval comrade melted away. Without a thought, her spine stiffened and she raised up to her full height, a familiar mask falling over her face. Contrary to her reaction, the Admiral chuckled. “Now, now. No need for all that Princess. I just thought I’d mention that _I’m_ not the only one who’s noticed.”

Wrong footed, her royal demeanor dropped and she just avoided stuttering her defense, feeling younger than she had in years.

“I’ve been fulfilling my duties. Killian put his trust in me and I-”

“I know dear,” He shushed her with an odd smile, knowing and with a sparkle that hinted at a tease. “But that is no reason to keep yourself locked away over meals and to neglect the courtiers. For some of them, this is the only time of year they come to the palace and now the King is gone, leaving you in his stead. . .” His genial manner had become serious and his voice dropped even lower. “If you are serious about being a future ruler of these people, you can’t afford to isolate yourself from them.”

Emma opened her mouth to deny that she’d been doing any such thing, but the older man raised one white eyebrow, silencing her with a look. Swallowing back her words she examined her actions over the past two days from this outside point of view. Without knowing of her desire to avoid a certain couple, her love of the work she was doing, and her sadness over missing Killian, it did indeed appear that she was not interested in the court and was woefully neglecting her responsibilities as hostess.

With the message received, she carried on to the card room and noticed clearly the looks of surprise or even disdain, that were being directed her way throughout. Smiling gently, she made her way to the nearest table with a free spot and asked to join. She made genial conversation and listened attentively to the minor baron and his wife who had made up the table along with a young gentleman who was a friend of Lady Jaqueline’s. He seemed convivial and eager for conversation but Emma couldn't help notice how surprised the couple seemed by her attention.

Yes, she’d well and truly started to muck things up. Thankfully, it was early enough to remedy as she made plans for an afternoon ride the next day, inviting the table, and anyone else who wished to join her, along. She would work on finding a balance to her new responsibilities and for now choose to simply ignore Malcolm and Fiona. She would prove to herself and everyone else that she was meant for this role.

Yet, this was new to her, having the responsibility of the crown resting solely on her shoulders. Being the only person for the people’s eyes to rest on. Always before there had been someone else there: her parents, the monarch of the realm she was visiting, Killian. Anytime she was alone, her duties were whittled down and the people around her close friends or knights. As she got ready for bed that evening she talked her thoughts over with Opal.

They’d yet to discuss the ball beyond the cause for the King’s departure, and Emma hadn’t confided her newfound love to her lady-in-waiting yet either. She was sure that Opal knew most of what Emma wasn’t telling her already, with the gentle knowing smile she’d been wearing ever since the Princess had mentioned Killian was leaving. They had known each other since childhood after all and if anyone could tell Emma was in love, it would be her. But then there were even the details of castle life she was surely informed of simply because the servants knew everything.

Still, her friend stayed up with her that night, letting Emma pour out every detail of the past four days. Opal laughed, gasped, cheered, and even worried for her in all the right moments as the fire burned to embers. She even scolded Emma when she admitted to doubting whether or not Killian felt the same and not telling him how she felt before he left. It seemed, at least to her lady-in-waiting, his feelings were obvious, though Opal admitted that—like Emma—perhaps he hadn’t realized them yet.

That soothed the doubts in Emma’s heart for the moment and both women pushed aside the cares and concerns of court to gush about new love. She couldn’t even remember when they’d fallen asleep, but Emma awoke curled up on a chair feeling lighter, more confident, and determined to prove herself.

The day went well. She took morning tea with several ladies before retreating to Killian’s study to work, but only until luncheon. The afternoon ride had grown into quite a large party when word got around and the decision was made to ride to a nearby scenic hill, which Emma had yet to visit and suited her just fine.

She engaged those around her in conversation and started a lively debate about the best places to see in the Kingdom, since she’d yet to travel much and everyone had differing opinions. This carried them through to supper even, as there were so many who wished to convince the Princess to visit this estate or that village.

Over the next days she continued in this vein, keeping her time in Killian’s study limited to a few hours and focusing on the guests. Once it seemed the visitors were assured of her attention, much of the focus began to wane and the number of people around her at all times dropped. She wished Lord and Lady Malcolm would follow the others' example in this. Even at meals many of the guests made their own plans, sometimes taking one or the other in their rooms.

Truthfully, Emma wished she could have taken meals in her room as well, or have the freedom to take just a day off, but as hostess and potential sovereign, she’d already learned she did not have that luxury. Her first council meeting had gone well though. The councilors were very gracious as she entered and talked her through the usual procedures as they each gave a report, since Killian had left before he’d been able to.

Perhaps she should have felt nervous being the only woman present and a good twenty years younger than anyone else, but shadowing her mother for so many years had familiarized her with such situations. The most notable news had been from the page in Killian’s party, informing them that all had arrived safely. At the end, a few councilors had given her encouragement and praised her for her insights which was gratifying, even though she knew not to read too much into such things. Whether it was sincere or not, she was simply glad they sought to win her good opinion at all.

The Admiral also asked how she was fairing before she left. Her response was positive but cool, still feeling a bit foolish in his eyes. However, the truth was that her rigorous schedule was starting to grate on her. The main struggle was the little bit of relaxation time she had. The conservatory, library, music room, and even kitchen were no longer safe havens; she had been limited mostly to the family wing when she had a brief moment to retreat. Her room began to feel confining, and on the few evenings where there was no entertainment, she ensconced herself in the family sitting room. There she’d sit on the floor in front of the fire and imagine Killian was there with her, talking and laughing, but soon that became almost worse than being in her room as she keenly felt his absence.

She tried to ignore this and focus on the tasks at hand. Malcolm and Fiona still dogged her steps when possible. Thankfully, so far she had still been surrounded by others when they appeared, yet whatever their reason for haunting her, they had not divulged it, and it was beginning to worry Emma that she had never asked what Killian had said to Lord Malcolm the night of the ball. Were they really cowed into submission? Emma thought not but was at a loss to understand whatever game they might be playing. If beaten, why take the trouble of being absolutely everywhere she went. Why watch her so closely and yet never approach. She was starting to think she might have to go on the offensive with them both.

Soon she was into her second week and holding her first audience. This was also something brand new to her. Always before, in her parent’s castle she had sat at her mother’s left hand as Snow had handled the line of citizens making petitions or airing grievances. In foreign courts, she had stood along the walls with the courtiers and nobility to watch. Yet now she was the one passing judgments and meting out rewards, reparations, and punishments.

It was a taxing day. There were moments of fulfillment—like helping a young mother who’d recently been widowed—but two different groups of people had to be dragged from the hall by guards when things turned violent. Emma had stood stiff and regal before the throne as this happened but that night she collapsed into bed mentally and emotionally exhausted.

There was quite a bit of murmuring among the Lords and Ladies the next day about her performance. She talked with Opal that evening and conceded when her friend made the point that it was only to be expected. After all, it was their first real look at her acting as sovereign, Emma couldn’t blame them for taking interest.

Thus, Emma continued on as before but as the weeks dragged on she became increasingly lonely. It was true that she was constantly surrounded by people. Yet, in moments when she could pause to contemplate, it struck her how alone she felt and how strange it was that just when she was being given what she’d always wanted, the chance to rule and be a Queen in her own right—even temporarily—she longed for someone else to share the burden with.

Well, not just _any_ someone. These thoughts would inevitably lead her to deliberate about how foolish it was that she’d fallen in love at a time when her potential marriage was in flux. Doubts had started to creep back in, in regards to Killian and their future. Besides the uncertainty of Baelfire and what Killian had meant about “another option” there was the simple fact that no matter what Opal thought, Emma couldn’t be sure of his affections. At least not in that way.

It was evident that he cared for her a great deal, but too many times there had been mentions of their relation or age difference. Did he see her only as a cherished niece or as something more? What’s more, the longer he was absent the more she began to forget exactly how things had gone. Were all those little touches at the ball real or just the product of her overactive imagination and speeding heart? What about all the moments they'd shared before that; could she be sure she wasn't viewing them through a skewed lense?

She stopped voicing her worries to Opal after a firm reprimand to "not let her mind get carried away", but the doubts lingered. More than anything, she wished for Killian to return, or at least to hear from him, so she could put all these tormenting thoughts to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you to everyone who expressed concern about my arm. I am not back to 100%, but with stretching, massage, and frequent breaks I am back to two-handed typing! I will (I hope) never take my dominant hand or the use of my thumbs for granted again. I so admire those who live with missing limbs and have learned to excel without them. I know it must have been a VERY difficult road, but they persevere.
> 
> Anyway. Due to the split nature of this chapter and the next, there was not a lot of drama in this one being more focused on the passage of time. I hope you'll understand when you read the next how trying to have them both together ended up just far to long in comparison with the other chapters. 
> 
> But tell me what you think. I was hoping to capture a bit of the crazy schedule as well as the isolating nature and pressures of the crown. Feedback is not only welcomed but pleaded for! "Please, may I have some more?"


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm and Fiona's game comes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I feel so accomplished two chapters in two days (never mind the fact that it took me twice as long to post them). 😬 Well, buckle up for all the drama that was originally part of the last chapter until it exploded out of my hands. 🤯

It was just before her third and final council meeting—if Killian had been correct about the length of his trip—that Emma noticed the whispers and surreptitious glances had returned. There really never was a dull moment at court, and if there _was_ , someone would dig up something to gossip about.

At first she ignored it, attended her council meeting, and thanked the members for being so gracious toward her. There was no word of Killian—which they assured her was quite normal, though it didn’t make her feel any better. Even if he didn’t send an update to the privy council, she thought he might at least write to her about Baelfire’s mysterious situation. Hadn’t they become confidants over these past months? Or perhaps that was another thing her mind had grown into more than it actually was.

Pushing away her spiraling thoughts, she subtly brought up this latest palace intrigue but sadly no one knew what it might be. So Emma continued to bide her time, but if she had been waiting for it to pass, she was disappointed when the whispers seemed to only increase, as did Lord and Lady Malcolm's popularity.

Emma was concerned at the growing number who circled around the couple daily and asked a few of her closer acquaintances—those who were always at court—if they knew what might be behind it. Sir Anton, Lady Alice and Sir Cyrus had heard nothing but promised to keep their ears open.

It was an afternoon a few days later that it came out. A good majority of the current palace residents and guests had gathered in the largest sitting room. A surprisingly heavy attendance but due to the substantial snowfall outside many other afternoon pursuits had been waylaid.

A group of men sat playing cards, several ladies attended to their embroidery, others read, and a few stood around the chess table as Lady Alice showed off her skill against her husband. The eldest among the group seemed content to simply sit and chat before the fire, or in one Lord’s case, snore softly.

Emma had brought a book and ordered tea and cakes for the whole room, which seemed to be the start of a quite agreeable afternoon; especially when someone started making sachets or some such thing, wafting the pleasant aroma of spruce throughout the room.

Lady Jaqueline, against all odds, had secured the seat next to Emma on a blue velvet cushioned sofa. The joy on the girl’s face at her victory forced Emma to bite back a laugh, and prompted the princess to abandon the idea of her book and pour tea instead. However, when the younger lady leaned close to receive her cup, she asked the Princess a soft-spoken question.

“Highness,” She started, still not able to call Emma by her name no matter how many times the princess had tried to persuade her. “Is it true what they are saying? About you and Sir Baelfire?”

Smiling kindly at Jacqueline, Emma took a sip of her own tea before responding. But inside her heart had jumped to her throat, the ringing in her ears drowning out the murmuring sounds of soft conversations.

“That depends on what you are referring to? People say many different or conflicting things; often at the same time.” She said lightly, forcing herself to keep calm. She had been waiting for Malcolm and Fiona to approach her and try to win her over. After all, it was she who they needed to agree to marry Baelfire. Had they instead been quietly spreading their agenda right under her nose all the while?

“Your betrothal. Is he really going to be the heir?” Emma’s mouth stayed open for a second longer than intended as she tried to pull an acceptable answer together. Jaqueline seemed to think she’d caused offense. “I’m so sorry milady. I shouldn’t have said anything, it’s just I always had the impression you didn’t much care for him but everyone is saying it’s true and I just. . .” She trailed off as Emma held up a hand.

“No, no. You were right to inform me of these rumors as they are quite distressing.” She said, no longer worrying about volume. She had been right, but what was the purpose behind this? Did they imagine they could pressure her into it through gossip? Well, if everyone was truly talking about this, it would be better to try and address it at once and show them just how wrong they were. She sat straighter and allowed herself to fall into a familiar regalness.  
“While I do not find it shocking that people should speculate about my marriage, to state any such engagement as a _fact_ is ridiculous!” Her voice carried through the room and the few quiet conversations dropped off.

After an awkward silence where the couple behind the rumors avoided her gaze, and it seemed every other pair of eyes flicked back and forth between them, a familiar voice spoke up.

“Why should it be ridiculous? You came here to be married, did you not. As that event has not taken place yet, it is logical that there is at least an understanding. Otherwise, what is your purpose in coming?” It was Lady Ana. Emma could have guessed.

She was sitting a few seats away with the women who were embroidering. Several mouths had popped open at her self-insertion and the princess suddenly foresaw a long future of trying to handle this woman and her sharp inanity. With a raised eyebrow and another casual sip of tea, she answered.

“The purpose of my coming to Glowerhaven is no mystery. The King has no heirs and my grandmother was born a princess of this country. As the closest in relation to both the King and the Crown, I am here to lend legitimacy to the future of this monarchy. _However,_ the King is still a fairly young man himself and if he has arranged no marriage for me yet, it is not _my_ place to question his timing.”

Here she looked around pointedly reminding the room it was not their place either. Many faces flushed, a few bowed their heads in what could have been shame or simply a wish to avoid her eye. Some looked defiantly back, including the Lady who seemed keen to carry her point.

“And yet,” Ana continued in her high voice that goaded Emma to the point of wanting to slap her. “Sir Baelfire is the closest thing His Majesty has to a son. And you were thrown together so often in the weeks before his departure. I am sure that must be what he intends.”

Emma did not even ask how the Lady could have known such a thing. Certainly, there were several public events she and Baelfire had both attended, but there they mostly avoid each other. Otherwise they were generally alone—either ignoring or picking at each other—or with Killian. But the source of the information was not the crux of this matter and she would not fall into confirming a rumor for the sake of sussing it out.

She set down her cup rather harder than necessary, but the resounding clang resonated causing everyone to freeze. One quite young man flinched, and from the eyes that had flicked his way, she was sure his friends would probably rib him about it later. It did not improve her mood.

“Let me be very clear.” She had tried to soften—had taken a deep breath before she spoke—but there was ice and iron in Emma’s voice now. There may be a fine line to walk to avoid saying anything untrue, but she had absolutely had it with this woman and frankly the whole situation.  
“While I may understand the interest of such gossip, the only people who would benefit from creating such a story, I thought, had already been reminded by _His Majesty_ that spreading such gossip was below their station. It appears the message did not sink in.” With this she looked directly at Malcolm and Fiona ready to be over with their farce.

The crackle of the fire and the nervous shuffling of cards became apparent in the resounding silence. A man’s voice cleared, but when he began to speak it was with a nasally whine.

“Can you truthfully say that you have no betrothal, no understanding with my nephew?” Emma lifted her chin calmly.

“Sir, I will put an end to this now. I am not engaged to your nephew and can safely say we would not suit.”

“If you are not then the fault must lie with you. We had it confirmed that the King has intended to name him as his heir.” Fiona jumped in to defend her husband’s claim.

“I know not who confirmed such a thing to you since it was not the King.” Here Emma threw aside all caution to state her mind. Up till this very moment she had been trying to keep herself open to the idea that marrying Baelfire might still be a possibility; no matter how it would crush her spirit to do so.

If that was the case, she hadn’t wanted to state an outright falsehood. However, it rang with sudden clarity that she would not, could not marry him. Even if Killian asked her himself, her heart forbade it, and she at least understood that he would never force her into such a thing.  
“The _only_ understanding I have with him is that our differences in character are so great we should avoid each other whenever possible. In fact, one of the few things I can give him credit for, is being more welcome company than yourselves.”

The shock was palpable. This was not the usual game of ambiguous polite answers and round-about denials. Her forthright words had unequivocally stated her position. This was turning from a verbal chess match into a game of _courte-paume_ ; The moves grand, and the ball ever faster and more precise.

“So you have rejected him, is that it? And now force our King to prefer another as heir over the man he considers as his own _son_ because he’s not ‘good enough’ for you.” The volley was returned.

“Indeed sir you are mistaken, for two reasons. First I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that your nephew would loath becoming King. Second, His Majesty makes no secret of his preferment for affection in marriage, of which he informed me of upon my arrival. It was made clear that any match I make should be at least convivial—if not a loving one—since it is I who undoubtedly holds the future of this kingdom upon my shoulders.”

Here Fiona opened her mouth again, but Emma would not cede back control. She spoke low and firmly, hands tightly clasped to hold back her anger. Every ear was already trained on her.

“I know what you are intending by telling such stories. You are foolish if you think it will achieve your aims. For while the King did not care for your power-hungry machinations, you will find that I am even less sympathetic to such obvious and disgraceful grasping.”

There were gasps around the room and a bevy of whispers. The absolute offense and horror on the accused couple’s faces at being called out in such a way, was short-lived as Lord Malcolm stood, sputtering.

“Preposterous!”

“Yes. Your _story_ is. And if I hear any more of such rumors, you can be assured you will not be welcome in my future court. For now, perhaps it would be best to take supper in your chambers tonight. I will inform the kitchens.”

With that she stood calmly, held out her arm and gestured clearly for them to leave. The eyes of the room took all this in with eagerness or fear. “I would consider carefully sir, that you have twice over now insulted a princess and, more so, offended your future queen.”

Red-faced and eyes burning, the couple exited but another lady remained seated. Emma’s gaze turned to her next.

“I believe such an arrangement would benefit you as well Lady Ana.” The woman blanched in horror and those around her seemed to lean away as if not wishing to be associated with her.

“Wha-? You can’t just-”

“I assure you, I can and will if I must. For now I am inviting you to enjoy a quiet evening in your rooms and to rejoin our party tomorrow.” Emma’s voice softened, “Do not make me do something drastic that we would both regret.”

Ana’s clear white complexion flushed red but, praise be, the lady stood and left without further word, only a pinched sour look on her face.

A tense second drew out after her departure until Sir Cyrus broke it with a low whistle and his wife boldly stated,

“Well if that set down wasn’t well deserved I don’t know what is!” Several people let out nervous or relieved laughs and there were a few hearty agreements to Lady Alice’s comment. Still others seemed in shock or unsure how to proceed so, sitting back down, Emma took the conversation back in hand.

“Now, perhaps we can talk of something more pleasant. I thought perhaps we might take advantage of the snow and go sleighing tomorrow.”

Eventually the remaining party relaxed again and enthusiasm for the next day took hold. As soon as she was able the princess caught both Sir Cyrus and Lady Alice’s eyes and gave them a thankful smile, to which they nodded. She doubted Malcolm and Fiona would simply take such a humiliation laying down but it was nice to know that she had friends in her corner.

Especially when, upon exiting the room to dress for dinner, a servant handed her a note from Admiral Smee. There had been a message from the King’s page: Killian did not expect to be back for at least another month. 

Despite all her earlier strength, she nearly broke down and wept right there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *courte-paume: The french term for "real tennis" or "court tennis"
> 
> Killian will be back next chapter. I PROMISE!!! 
> 
> Thank you all for the lovely comments and I can't wait to hear what you thought of this one.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The seasons begin to change and Killian finally returns!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd & Unedited. 😬 But on time, so yay!
> 
> Oh my goodness, we are almost there! I can't believe how fast it's coming now that we are nearing the end. This is another quite long chapter and will also answer what on earth has been up with Baelfire. Hope you enjoy!

For the first time since Killian’s departure, Emma actually took supper in her room; begging off that there had been urgent word from the King. She sent for Smee the moment she reached her suite to find out if anymore had been said. There was precious little. The situation in Malcolm's lands had mostly been settled, but all the messenger had said about their lengthening stay was that Sir Baelfire’s situation was ‘delicate’. The only other news was that the King was in good health.

“And that’s it?” Emma’s voice wasn’t hysterical but it was approaching that range. She stood in her private sitting area with Opal off to the side as the Admiral gave his report. “No further details? He didn’t send any word himself?”

“Um, no mam. But I wouldn’t be too concerned, that’s the way these things usually go. Regular updates to the privy council tend to lack detail unless it’s relevant to the business of state or the King’s health.”

“He never writes himself?”

“Um, no mam.” He repeated himself. “I don’t believe he’s ever seen a reason to.” A look of concern settled over him as her face fell. “Ah. I see. . .I wouldn’t take it to heart Your Highness. It has been many years since His Majesty has had anyone to even think of writing to when he’s away from the palace. . .” He faltered a bit at the expression she knew must be evident on her face. But she merely thanked him for the extra information and dismissed him.

“Certainly Mam,” He said and just as he got to her door he turned and added. “And if I may say so, your care for him does you credit. . .and my old heart some good as well.” He clicked his heels together, bowed his head, and was out the door before she could respond.  
Mouth agape Emma turned to Opal who shrugged, smiling. Still gobsmacked, the princess moved to collapse onto the nearby chaise.

“Is it really so obvious?”

Opal, who had turned to the desk she was standing beside and seemed to be organizing something, replied. “Hmmm? Oh, well perhaps to me or those who might have been in company with the two of you much. I don’t think the majority of people would be so discerning though.” She appeared distracted as she talked but suddenly turned to look Emma in the eye. “Princess, I just had a thought. . .” She trailed off as if contemplating. “The page who delivered the message is still here and if you like, I could send for him.

Emma’s brows shot up, “Send for him?” She asked, not quite comprehending.

“I thought perhaps you might write to His Majesty instead?” She gestured down to the writing desk and Emma got up, seeing that her lady-in-waiting had already laid out fresh paper and a newly mended pen.

Sinking into the chair with the first true bit of peace she’d had since this afternoon’s altercation, the princess looked up at her friend, “Thank you, Opal. I’d like that very much.” Then turning to the walnut desk with a renewed sense of purpose, she picked up the pen.

*****

The letter had been an excellent idea, helping Emma to process the recent developments as well as feel connected to Killian. When she handed the letter to the page the next morning, with his promise to deliver it straight into the King’s hands, she felt a weight lifted from her and a chunk of her sadness fall away.

She knew it would be at least a few weeks until a response could come, if it even did before the King returned himself, thus Emma determined to ignore the passage of time and focus solely on each day as it came. It was easy enough at the start, the sleighing was a good distraction and aside from hostessing and her duties as regent, she found managing the gossip and dynamics of the court requiring a new level of investment.

It seemed Malcolm and Fiona’s words had struck a chord with some people but after her public chastisement of their fellow courtiers, no one was willing to openly cross her. All of this was able to draw her attention away from the passing weeks but soon the changing seasons made it impossible.

The day of the confrontation ended up being the last true snow and within two weeks it had mostly melted, leaving a quite muddy and depressingly brown landscape that stopped most outdoor activities for her guests. Especially when the rains started. For a full week, it felt as if grey skies and mud were all they would ever know again. Exercise became informal dances and walks about the ballroom. A temporary training room was set up within the palace itself, for those that wished for something more rigorous, to avoid crossing to the barracks and training grounds.

Roads around the palace and town had become impassable and Emma spared a tiny thought that if any letter had been on its way, it was certainly delayed now. The larger concern was how this might affect Killian’s party and their ability to return when they had hoped. The council set up plans for what to do if trade was halted much longer, and how to proceed if the King was delayed even further.

Still, one morning she woke slightly disoriented, only to realize her unease was caused by sunlight pouring through her window. The distinct absence of rain pattering away against the windows and eaves might have left an uncomfortable quiet but it had been replaced by something else. Birds. Sweet twittering songs and happy energetic chirps filled the air as Emma threw open her window and breathed in the damp, clean scent. A breeze danced around her, pleasant and inviting.

Unfortunately, the ground was still far too sodden for venturing out of doors, but Emma had all the windows thrown open to let in this first taste of spring, which certainly seemed to bolster the mood of the court.

A few days later some intrepid people joined her in an afternoon exploration of the gardens while others enjoyed sitting on the veranda, watching the muddy expedition. Despite the high boots she wore, it was a dirty process but Emma was quite heartened to find a few green shoots making their way above the earth.

Every day thereafter, green seemed to creep across the land—popping up from the ground, shooting out from the branches of trees and bushes—until it felt that, if one blinked, new leaves hwould unfurl in that instant. The ground finally started firm up as well, allowing the normal business to recommence just as small buds started adding tiny pricks of white and pink and yellow to the backdrop of green.

It was a full five weeks after Killian’s last message and nearing nine since his departure, that the page returned, hailing the King’s return. It was luncheon when he arrived, saying he had left the rest of the party to take a short rest two towns over. They were traveling quite slowly, he said, and could be expected late that evening or possibly even the next morning.

A general atmosphere of excitement and excess energy filled the afternoon and lasted into the musical recital that had been planned for the evening. The guests each took turns exhibiting with varying degrees of skill and talent. There was singing and duets on the pianoforte, harp playing, violin solos and, it was discovered, that one of Lady Jaqueline’s young friends had more than a little ability upon the flute. Emma had sat back and allowed others to impress them with sonatas, minuets, and concertos until finally she was pressed by so many that she took her turn at the harp.

In a mood that left her feeling not equal to something technically complex, she chose instead a soft folk ballad, closing her eyes as she gave herself to the music. When she began to sing there was a small disturbance as if people were surprised, which Emma found odd until a deep voice joined her own in harmony. It was only sheer muscle memory that kept Emma’s fingers moving as her eyes flew open.

There standing in the door to the music room looking like the most wonderful thing she’d ever seen despite his tired and road-weary appearance, was Killian. She drank him in. His raven & silver hair fell over the lines in his forehead, but the little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were deeper, his eyes smiling as he sang.

A smile spread wide over Emma’s own face as her breath caught and she let out a small involuntary laugh. Happy tears sprang to her eyes, pooling there as she held them back, suddenly remembering they were surrounded by people. She hadn’t even realized she’d stopped playing until Killian stepped further into the room, no longer singing.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” His words were for the room at large, but though his body turned to face them, his eyes remained on her. Her cheeks, she knew, must be red. “Please, continue. I’ve not heard that song in many years.”

“Alright, but only if you’ll sing with me.”

“I won’t deny you, though I’m hardly dressed for company.” He gestured to his mud-spattered breeches but moved nearer to stand by the harp. Without prompting Emma began the song again, however, this time she refused to close her eyes and take her gaze from the King whose own was similarly scorching her.

Their voices were perfectly in sync though they’d never sang together before. His tenor melded with her soprano voice through the melody and when the second verse came around he began to harmonize once again.

Emma was reminded of the ball, another moment she had wished wouldn’t end. But now, instead of arms it was their voices that wrapped around one another. Between the singing and her racing pulse when the song drew to an end she felt quite out of breath and wonderfully lightheaded. There was only a beat of silence as they remained in their bubble, every single hair on her body vibrating, before the bystanders burst into applause.

En masse people stood to greet the King themselves. A few others of Killian’s party who had been standing by the door now entered to greet friends and loved ones. Sir Liam came and paid respects to her, drawing her out of her trance-like state. That was when she saw Sir Baelfire lingering by the door next to a very pretty, dark-skinned woman. A hush fell across the room as everyone noticed the same detail Emma did; the woman was heavily pregnant.

“Ah, yes. How impolite of me to let it slip my mind,” Emma’s eyes cut to Killian who appeared completely calm as he spoke, but he also shot a swift apologetic look to the couple by the door. Baelfire looked more stoic and serious than she’d ever seen him, arm wrapped tightly about the woman’s waist, while the lady herself looked like a mouse staring at a cat’s open mouth. “Sir Baelfire’s wife has yet to visit court so allow me to do the honors. May I introduce Lady Tamara.”

You could have heard a pin drop. It took Emma a beat longer than she would have liked to process the situation before she was stepping forward to greet the other woman. Tamara began to dip into a low curtsy but the Princess caught her by the hand.

“No, no. None of that.” She smiled, eyes flicking down to the round belly as Baelfire helped to steady his wife. What an interesting twist of fate this was. Keeping ahold of her hand, Emma squeezed it lightly. “You are very welcome to court Lady Tamara.” The woman’s eyes were practically as wide as saucers as Emma glanced up at Baelfire with a smile, “She’s lovely. Now I am sure you are exhausted from a full day of travel and should like to retire,” Emma said looking back at Tamara. “But perhaps you might join me for tea tomorrow?”

The lady gave her assent and Emma just knew that if she looked over her shoulder Lord Malcolm and Lady Fiona’s faces would be purple.

*****

The evening had ended rather quickly after that. Killian asserted that he too should like to rest and the entire party disbanded with many departing for bed. Emma hadn’t had a chance to actually talk to Killian after their duet, but as she lay in bed she was just overjoyed to have him back, sleeping within the same walls she now called home.

This morning she knew he’d been quite occupied with getting caught up on all the affairs of state. Desperate to see him she almost contrived to join the council’s impromptu meeting, however she knew it would likely involve a report on her and would rather not make it awkward for everyone, including herself, by being present. In addition, she had her word to keep and was readying to meet with Tamara for tea in the conservatory.

What she hadn’t expected was for Baelfire to join them—though from the little she had seen last night—perhaps she should have. As they dined on macarons and tea sandwiches, Emma asked after their journey. Were the roads bad? Had it been very difficult in the late state of her condition? She tried to avoid anything that might make them uncomfortable, like asking after their relationship or hurried marriage. The Lady did not talk much, though the little she did say made Emma think she was normally a quite forthright person, perchance just feeling a bit out of her depth in the new setting and situation.

Lady Tamara, who had noticeably been growing restless, asked if she might walk about the room and stretch her legs. She’d been feeling more and more uncomfortable these past weeks especially in her low back and couldn’t stand being in one position for too long.

Emma fully expected Baelfire to join his wife, however he seemed content to sit at the table and watch her explore the flowers and citrus trees.

“Thank you,” He said to Emma’s surprise. “She’s not. . .used to such places and people. She’s lived most of her life in the mountains with her family you see. Woodcutters and carpenters, the lot of them. It’s been a worry for us both about how she would be received. And then with her expecting on top of that. . .. After everything that I- well I didn’t expect much of a welcome from you at all, so thank you.”

Emma sat her teacup down softly, trailing her finger around the saucer to collect a drip. “There is no need. On the contrary, I think this is the best development that could have happened for both of us.”

“Is that why you’re being so welcoming? Because it suits your needs?” Emma looked sharply over at Baelfire, but rather than taunting or harshness his expression seemed to be earnestly curious, eyes drilling into her skull as if searching for the truth.

“Of course not. Though, I feel several things make more sense now. No, I could see you were both bracing yourself to face the wolves and there was no reason to. I do not know her yet, though I hope to like her, but either way she especially does not need to be under extra stress when it is so easily remedied. Until she settles I will try and keep her near me and away from the claws of those less. . .understanding shall we say? That is, if you approve.”

A gust of air blew past his lips and Baelfire brought up a hand to roughly scrub over his face. “If I approve.” The words escaped in a raspy low laugh that sounded suspiciously close to something else. Emma turned her eyes away to allow him a moment as he appeared to wrestle with himself. If she refused to shed tears in public, how much more so would he fight it? “He’s in love with you, you know.”

She blinked, nonplussed and not comprehending the sharp turn the conversation seemed to have taken; the words had burst from him like water from a broken dam. “What?”

“The King is in love with you.”

“What does- How would you even-”

“You’re forgetting that’s the man who practically raised me. I know him.” He took a deep breath turning away to look back at the lovely young woman inspecting a tropical bloom. “I was with him when he received your letter. I didn’t understand why it struck me so much—his reaction—but then I realized. I hadn’t seen that expression on his face since before my mother died.” He paused and Emma tried to let that sink in while he grappled with his next words. “He was so different afterward too. Happier, optimistic, suddenly couldn’t wait to get home. Seeing him with you last night was simply a confirmation.”

The blood rushed down from her head and Emma felt suddenly dizzy. The chair let out an awful screech as she stood and whipped around then. She needed to go and find Killian, see him and -? Her reflexive movement barely registered until she felt Baelfire grasp her elbow and turn back to face him. She wasn’t even able to flush with embarrassment.

“Before. . .I thought you were just playing with him. When I would see you together—the little looks, smiles, laughs—” He shook his head, suddenly changing gaits. “Our whole journey back I planned how I would get you to leave, convince you not to break his heart.” Indignation welled up in her chest and she lifted her chin. As if she would ever hurt Killian! “But then, last night, I realized—it seems so obvious now—you’re in love with him too.” He stated it plainly no question or uncertainty in his voice. The air felt thin and she remained frozen, pinned under his gaze.

“What if I am?” Her voice sounded strange to her ears. Not strong and defiant yet not weak either. It almost felt disembodied as if the words had not been spoken at all but merely spilled out of her consciousness. Wondering and honest.

Tamara was standing now. Rubbing her belly and watching them with a cautious curiosity. Emma had no doubt she’d heard most of the conversation if not all of it. Baelfire nodded at her confession and then cocked his head, eyes searching before they softened.

“Well then, all that’s left for me to ask is what are you going to do about it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So originally I had more going on with the politics and how the shock of Baelfire's marriage affected the court and Emma realizing what it meant for her before the last interaction happened. However, I've spent two almost three full chapters without Killian now and I miss him as I'm sure many of you do as well. Also, it seemed natural in the moment for Emma to invite Tamara which provided a clear opportunity to have this conversation happen earlier and I really can't say I'm sorry.
> 
> Thank you for the absolutely lovely comments I've received on the last few chapters. They make it so worthwhile and truly inspire me when I'm feeling stuck or down.
> 
> The song I used as inspiration for Emma and Killian's duet. In actuality, it has no lyrics, but I just loved it so much and could picture it being a lovely simple lullaby or ballad that Killian knew from childhood perhaps or his sailing days.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NuK3KG6lDn0&list=PLr_VqYsZqGfvglcdkOuaLAYnDu33fOC8c&index=67&t=0s


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero and heroine are finally together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY! It's finally here.
> 
> I'm sorry it took an extra week but this is the fulfillment of everything we've been building toward and I've rewritten it about ten times.
> 
> It's also officially our longest chapter so I hope you enjoy!

Emma went away from the encounter with that question ringing in her head. At first, she felt affronted, as if Baelfire was insinuating the outcome was completely dependent upon her. What was she _supposed_ to do about it? He was the King after all, and even princesses didn’t just go around confessing their love for the highest power in the land. Besides that, Killian was above her in every way, not just position but age and experience. She listed these things off, reasoning that surely it should fall to _him_ to approach her.

The upset then shifted into disbelief. (There was the distinct possibility that Baelfire had been mistaken and Killian saw her simply as a close relative; why should he ever approach her if he didn’t feel the same.) Then uncertainty. (Or what if he thought she only saw him that way. Wouldn’t it be up to her then?) And then again turned into worry (because, even if it was true. . .she couldn’t just blurt it out).

She had no idea what words to use or how to even approach such a topic. How did people ever get their happily ever afters, when confessing your feelings felt so terrifying? It wasn’t as if this love was something she’d experienced before—if it was maybe she would feel more confident—but no. She was left with horrible imaginings of what could go wrong, stilted awkwardness, the possibility of him not only rejecting her but the destruction of their friendship.

She continued cycling through these emotions throughout the day, even speaking with Opal as she got ready for bed. Her friend nodded and hmmed but did not weigh in as Emma verbally processed her thoughts. In fact, she gave only one piece of advice as she left the princess for the night.

“Just make sure, your Highness, that you don’t let fear keep you from being happy.” A stab of discomfiture shot through Emma as her Lady-in-Waiting curtsied and closed the door behind her with a soft click.

The feeling grew as she crawled into bed and burrowed beneath the coverlet. Though the heavy wool blankets had been set aside now that spring had arrived, it was still nippy at night. Her fingers rubbed thankfully over the velvety gold blanket as she tucked it to her chin and rubbed her feet against each other to banish the chill.

As the comfort of warmth encompassed her Emma breathed deeply and felt her body relax. No doubt the linens had been hung outside to dry for they smelled fresh and sweet—almost like sunshine—without the scent of dried rose or lavender that had been used during the winter months. Yet, none of these little distractions could keep her mind occupied for long and, rather than blow out the candle on her bedside table and go to sleep, Emma found herself staring at the steady yellow flame instead.

She wasn’t _afraid_. . .was she?

It was true she hadn’t been solely in Killian’s company all day, but that wasn’t her choice, he’d been busy. She cringed into the linen pillow, acknowledging that wasn’t completely true. She’d avoided going anywhere near his study or the council room and had skirted around him at supper with the mental excuse that his guests needed his attention more.

She turned onto her back and bit her lip. The green canopy was nearly black in the shadow, the low light of the candle not reaching it. Emma could admit now that she’d been too caught up in her own feelings—again. Why, she didn’t think she had fully looked at him even once, only glancing surreptitiously when she’d been fairly certain his attention was occupied.

Her hands balled into the velvet cover and she scrunched her eyes shut in shame. What must he think of her behavior? If she kept it up she was going to do just as Opal said and ruin her happiness and worse, she might be ruining Killian’s happiness too. Even if he wasn’t in love with her, she knew that he did at least love her and treating him this way would surely hurt him. She was being a coward.

Before he had gone she was dying to let him know how she felt—hadn’t she regretted it immensely when he’d left, unaware of her affection? Now he was back and she’d spent the day avoiding him simply because she was afraid!

Well, no more. She might not know how to tell him about her feelings but she was not going to let her insecurities come between them. With a huff, Emma turned back to the side leaning over to snuff out the candle. She would find a moment to see him tomorrow and no matter what she would talk to him. Maybe even try and confess how she felt.

Engulfed in darkness she settled back on the pillow with a whispering doubt. . . _Well, maybe_.

*****

Finding time with Killian the next day proved to be far easier than Emma anticipated, requiring exactly no effort from herself. Her breakfast arrived with a note from him inviting her to take a stroll in the garden that morning. The initial fear at realizing she had no excuse to put off the encounter was quickly squashed. She had intended to meet him today but had secretly thought he might be too busy still. Now, to know he was free and was wanting to see her, there was no justification for putting it off.

So, instead of dwelling on her rolling stomach and racing pulse, Emma forced herself to think only of spending time with her dear friend. All other feelings and considerations were pushed down without remorse, like the contents of an over-packed trunk.

Compelling herself to stay in that frame of mind, Emma went through her morning routine. She agreed blindly to what clothing Opal chose for her and only asserted her opinion when it came to dressing her hair. Without explanation she asked for it to be left down; privately remembering Killian’s complement the first time she had worn it so, and how he seemed to appreciate it worn that way every time after. Opal merely smiled and did as requested.

Emma barely paid attention to her surroundings and everything going on around her after that, moving instinctually. Thus she quite unintentionally found herself heading out to the spring garden far earlier than necessary.

As soon as she stepped outside, the gorgeous morning awoke her from her trance. Twittering birds and buzzing bees created a natural symphony and the breeze dancing through her hair and around her sleeves was filled with the scent of tulips and hyacinth. All around, the garden was a riot of blue, purple, pink, and yellow drawing her in and inviting her to explore further.

Realizing she had done her effort to try and keep her mind distracted, no favors—she should have gone to the music room, or at least brought a book—she began pacing around the paths and, for lack of anything better, naming each flower she passed. Delphinium and snapdragons here. Crocus and lilies there. High, shaped hedges lined the flower beds along with bushes of azaleas, hydrangeas and lilacs.

Flowering trees of pink, red, and white—which, except crabapple, she forgot most of the names of—were dotted around. Thankfully the rose bower kept her occupied for a bit as she tried to remember the names of as many of the present species as she could. Her mother likely would have been disappointed to realize how little Emma had retained of those lessons.

She had just left the roses when Killian appeared from around a corner. The lid of her overstuffed thoughts threatened to spring open when he caught sight of her and her heart stuttered as he approached, smiling tentatively.

“Your maid said you’d come down already.” He said. There was a reticence in his eyes that made Emma feel ashamed again for avoiding him the day before.

“Yes.” Her simple answer hung in the air, followed by a pause just a few seconds too long.

“Well, it is a beautiful morning.”

“Very.” At this point it felt like she had lost control of her tongue for it seemed incapable of more than one-word answers, so when he held out his arm and asked, “Shall we,” she merely nodded.

They made polite small talk walking hand-in-arm, about the garden. She asked after his trip, he inquired about how she’d occupied herself with the recent rain. They talked of her time as regent and how Killian found things in excellent order.

He also explained in detail about Baelfire taking him up into the mountains to introduce his very pregnant fiance and the hasty wedding that hopefully would never become common knowledge. She told him dramatically about Malcolm and Fiona’s machinations and the culmination over tea of all things. This got a chuckle out of him.

“You mentioned it in your letter of course, but I had no idea it was as phenomenal as that. I should have liked to see it for myself.” His right hand was rubbing over her own which was tucked in the crook of his left elbow. “I wanted to thank you for that by the way.” He said, voice turning softer and more serious. “Receiving your letter meant a great deal to me.”

“I’m very glad. It was quite lonely with you away and Opal pointed out to me that perhaps if I were to write, it might make it easier to bear.”

“I hope it did so. It certainly eased my own considerably.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “I am sorry to be so out of practice in such things. I believe I’ve mentioned before that Baelfire is not one for letters and so I’ve not kept regular correspondence with anyone for years. It hadn’t crossed my mind until yours arrived and by then we were readying to depart.”

“It’s alright. I was sad at first, I admit, but the Admiral helped me to understand.”

“Good old Smee.” A tiny smile touched the corner of his mouth before melting away. “Emma I wanted to talk to you about an important matter but, after yesterday, I feel there’s something else I must say first.” He slowed them to a stop between the tulips and hyacinth but did not turn to look at her. Goosebumps broke out over Emma’s arms as something like dread and anticipation combined filled her.  
“With events unfolding as they have, I feel a bit as though I’ve let you down in this whole process. I know you have a duty to your kingdom as well and would not blame you if you decided to take your leave of Glowerhaven.” Of all the scenarios in the world that was not one that Emma had imagined. “It will still be a few weeks before the mountain passes are safe to tr-”

“I have no intention of going back.” Her voice was clear. Certainly clearer than her muddled thoughts and Emma found herself half-surprised it hadn’t come out as a squeak. “Sooner or later I’d be off again for a different political alliance anyway and I. . .I can’t. Besides, Glowerhaven has become my _home_.”

She thought he understood that. So, did he truly not care for her in the same way or was he more hurt than she had anticipated by her avoidance? And why wouldn’t he look at her?

“Unless you wish me to go,” she said.

“No!” His denial was vehement as he turned to face her before letting out a long slow breath. “That was not what I meant at all. Truly, I am. . .very happy to know that you feel so at home here.” He took another short pause. “Would you sit with me?” She nodded and allowed him to lead her over to a nearby stone bench nestled under one of the white blossomed trees.

“I was discussing something with my advisors before I left and, in light of everything, they agreed yesterday—wholeheartedly I might add—to my proposal. There’s not been a precedent for it, you are descended from the female line and have a living brother, so it has required a few amendments to the law. However, it is accomplished and, with the council’s support.” The hope that had been building in her chest suddenly flickered. This was not at all what she’d expected.

“Emma, I want you to be my sole heir. You are undeniably the closest in line to the throne and will be the future monarch in your own right, as you were born to be.” He said and took her hands in his; face sincere and words overwhelming. “You’ll never have to marry if you don’t wish to.”

“Oh.” She hoped her response sounded merely surprised. She knew it hadn’t conveyed the excitement he was likely expecting but, hopefully, she’d been able to at least hide her disappointment. His brow furrowed.

“You don’t seem very. . .enthused. Is that not what you wanted?”

“It is. I mean, I am! It’s just. . .if my time as regent showed me anything, it’s that I do not want to do this job alone.” A breeze rippled through the branches causing a few white blooms to fall. “I understand now how important my parent’s relationship is, how much my mother relies on my father for support. I can’t imagine how it’s been for you, managing it alone all these years.”

“Oh.” Her love seemed both appeased and disappointed. “Well then, you’ll find someone else. I can even help you find someone suitable, put out some invitations—what do you think?”

She didn’t know what to make of his reaction but knew she had to be honest or risk losing her chance.

“Honestly? I don’t want to try and arrange another marriage with a practical stranger. With everything that’s happened these past months, I can’t reconcile denying my heart any longer.”

Another sprinkling of petals caused him to reach out and gently brush back a lock of her hair where one such flower had landed.

“What are you saying?” He said softly.

Knowing the moment was now, rather than panic Emma felt strangely calm, even if her heart was trying to escape her chest by means of her throat. Perhaps this was due to the walk and the fresh air settling her emotions but, if she searched herself truthfully, the princess simply had to admit she was meant to be here, sitting beside this man, her hands in his. This was right.

“I’m saying that before I arrived here a political marriage was fine, acceptable, preferred even. But I can’t do it anymore. I can’t marry someone when my heart belongs to another. It would be the lowest form of blasphemy.”

“Ah.” He said and, slipping his hands from hers, he gave a melancholy smile. “You’ve fallen in love.”

Slightly wrong-footed by his demeanor, Emma clasped her now empty hands and took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

“Yes, I have.” A beat of silence passed. She waited for rejection.

“Do you think he’ll be fit to rule beside you?”

“What?” She felt disoriented, as if a horse had just turned abruptly beneath her, upsetting her seat. What on earth could he mean? Was it a joke? No, he would never play with her heart like that. But she was sure that as soon as she confessed he’d know.

“Well, my desires are unchanged. I still believe you will be the best thing for this Kingdom. Especially in these past weeks, you have shown wisdom beyond your years and Emma, if you love this man, I assume he is worthy of it. Still, do you believe he will be up to the task? Will he be not only a good husband but a good king?”

Oh God. He _didn’t_ know. This infuriatingly humble man couldn’t see what was right in front of him. She wasn’t expecting this but now it lay squarely on her shoulders to make him understand.

“I think he already _is_.” She said. He stared blankly as if refusing to let her words sink in. Oh Lord, this man! This man who was everything, the sun in her day and the stars that lit up her night. This man who understood her in a way none ever had before and allowed her to see him just as he was. This man who gave her freedom at every turn was apparently, entirely unaware that he held her heart captive. “Killian, I love _you_.”

His mouth dropped and for a bit Emma was afraid she might have caused him to have a stroke. However, before she could even think of getting help he seemed to snap out of it.

“But. . .I’m more than twice your age!” Those words plunged her headfirst into an icy stream.

“That’s what you have to say right now?”

“But is that not. . .how can you. . .you don’t find it _strange_?”

That stung more than perhaps it should. She thought she'd been braced for it; after all, she had known it was a distinct possibility that he had seen her as a girl. Yet, she had thought their more recent interactions had perhaps shown a-a level of feeling for her that might mitigate such impressions.

“If I were still a child then it would be a serious concern. If it was merely a matter of attraction or if I thought you to be the kind of man who would only care for me because I am young, it would be another matter entirely but I know you are not. I do not love you despite or because of your age Killian.” There was a wobble in her voice which she tried to clamp down on. “I am a woman who loves you for the complete person that you are, just as I-I hope you might. . .for me.”

To help she gave a little shrug hoping to convey her feelings and dismiss them at once, as if his rejection wouldn’t break her heart into pieces.

“You love me.” He said. It was stated, like a fact he was trying to accept, rather than a question.

“I-” She had to stop and clear her throat of the sob which was trying to claw its way out. “I understand if you don’t feel the same and I-I won’t leave you without a successor.” The words seemed to spill from her mouth as Emma rambled on, holding tight to her emotions to keep them from spiraling. “Though perhaps I should set up my own establishment for a-a-.”

“Emma.” He said, reaching out with his right hand to slowly take hers tenderly in his grasp. She stopped short and froze. “Please don’t _ever_ think that I don’t love you.” He let out a watery chuckle. “I didn’t think I was even capable of feeling this way again until I met you.”

He lifted his other hand, brushing his knuckles softly over her cheek which she only just realized was wet. Unable to help herself she leaned into his touch; a hint of ink and paper reached her nose, overlaying his natural scent.

“From the moment you arrived, it’s as if I’ve come alive again. You were a companion, a friend, a confidant, but—as I grew to know you deeper—so did my feelings. Emma, you are the dearest person in the world to me.”

“You love me?” Her voice nearly cracked as she repeated his earlier words but he merely pulled their joined hands to his chest, eyes soft and adoring.

“With all my heart.” A sob did escape Emma then and she removed her hand only to fling her arms about Killian’s neck; her face nestling into his shoulder. His arms clasped around her as well, voice thick with emotion. “My strong, graceful Swan, how could I not love you? I just never dreamed that you might feel the same.” The sobs that had been purging all of her pent up fear and rejection suddenly turned into laughter. She leaned back to look in his smiling, tear-stained face.

“You ridiculous, marvelous, man. I think I began to fall in love with you that first night, though I didn’t realize it. No man has _ever_ come close to being as dear and precious to me as you, Killian. You’re the home I didn’t know I was seeking.”

He laughed, the exaltation of the moment seeming to affect him as well. Then his hands were cupping her cheeks, his eyes seeking permission, and his lips descending on hers. It was so much more than she had imagined. The gentle pressure, the soft caresses, the light tickle of his beard. It felt profound; searing.

One hand slid back into her hair and cradled her head gently, as the other dropped to her shoulder blade. She sighed into his mouth as her own hands balled in the front of his tunic, wishing this could go on forever.

Just as when they danced she felt certain they had left the earth behind. Especially when they finally parted, foreheads touching, and she opened her eyes. With sunlight filtering through the white-flowered branches hanging low above them, they could almost be in a cloud. In fact, everything appeared to glow. Colors were richer, deeper, and the world hazy with the happiness singing through Emma’s veins.

“So, to be clear, you want to marry me?” Killian said, joyous disbelief on his face.

“If you’ll have me. I know you’ve put a lot of work into the successio-”

He brought his fingers to rest against her sensitive lips for just a moment.

“I don’t have a ring upon my person but I want to make my wishes clear.” He picked up her left hand and looked at it for a moment gently fiddling with her fourth finger. Then something came over him and he straightened, wearing the same regal air Emma often employed. “Princess Emma of Misthaven, will you do me the honor of sharing the burden of the crown with me? Will you be my equal, my partner, my Queen?”

She smiled softly, cupping his cheek. “Only if I get to be your wife as well.”

His formality dropped and he laughed as his ears went red, “Did I not say that?” She shook her head, smiling so widely her cheeks ached as he scratched behind his reddened ear. “Apparently I’m out of practice in this sort of thing.” He stood, briefly releasing her hand, and knelt before her with only a slight wince.

“My Swan, you have awoken my heart and I love you more completely than I thought possible. I promise to cherish you, to laugh with you, and stand beside you all of my days. Will you marry me?”

She hadn’t thought she could love this man more, or be happier than she had only seconds ago. But there on his knees before her, Emma’s heart felt too full to let her form words. Instead, she could only nod and tugged on his arm to pull him up next to her again.

“Does that mean you will?” He smiled, leaning closer. She nodded again before finding her voice.

“Yes, I will.”

He captured her lips once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, our darlings did it! 
> 
> I have to admit I forced myself to stop and upload this because I was stressing too much. The garden scene was actually the first scene I wrote and the inspiration for the entire story. It was VERY different as of course things must change as plots develop and characters become fleshed out. To be honest it still feels a little patchworky to me as there are several versions I was cutting and merging together (I keep swinging back and forth between loving and hating it) so if you see any plot/characterization holes or egregious errors please let me know!
> 
> I will have at least one more chapter though I think it will be more of an epilogue. We'll see. There may be more than one epilogue too, as well as a couple deleted scenes (or scenes I just never wrote but want to?) 🤷
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments, bookmarks, and kudos. When starting this work I was not considering how the interaction with readers would be so uplifting during the creative process. My sincerest thanks to you all!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So. . .not an epilogue! Instead Emma and Killian have a few short sweet moments and announce their engagement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely unedited. This started as an epilogue, there are several pieces of narration that you can probably see it in, especially the start, but I just realized it wasn't quite done and the wedding will be the official end next chapter.

That afternoon the couple informed the privy council who were all rather gobsmacked at the development—except perhaps for Admiral Smee who wore a satisfied smile and seemed on the verge of happy laughter.

Emma almost pitied them, for they had spent weeks in meetings so that she might be named the heir only for it to now be irrelevant. However, standing with Killian’s hand in hers, she was too overjoyed to truly feel it or to care overly much about the mystified glances and shrugs passing around the room. Still, they gave their unanimous—if baffled—consent. After all, if the King was finally ready to settle down and start producing heirs, especially with a Princess who all approved of, they had no objection.

Killian and Emma had both then retired to his study to write separate letters to her family. She had no idea what their reaction might be to such unexpected news, but with every word she tried to convey her happiness. They had wanted her to marry for love, after all, and had only agreed to a political arrangement because Emma insisted. So, though her groom may not be what they had in mind she wanted to leave them in no doubt of her heart.

Opal, overjoyed, had thrown all protocol aside to hug her friend tightly when told the news. Her excitement and consistency through the whole affair had been a pillar of support and strength for the princess and continued to be so through the next few days while Emma and Killian tried to remain subtle in their affections until an official proclamation could be made.

Emma was sure that there were several—especially those that had known them since the beginning of their acquaintance—who saw the change. A subtle kiss to the hand here, a lingering glance there. Yet, royal court, which had remained quite animated from Baelfire’s marriage and the gossip that had preceded it, was thrown into an absolute tizzy upon the announcement of the king’s betrothal.

All the gold in the royal treasury couldn’t have purchased a better reaction. Emma’s only regret was that she couldn’t have a portrait of the array of emotions to look back on and laugh. From dropped jaws and stupefaction to elated squeals and cheers. Then of course there were looks of horror and rage that stood out on a few particular faces.

They both took it all in stride receiving the well wishes—whether they be enthusiastic, quietly genuine, or _less so_ —graciously. It would be weeks before the gossip and drama of the past months died down.

The common people were far more united in their excitement and as the castle organized an engagement ball, impromptu celebrations and feasts were said to be taking place throughout the land. Indeed, the day of the ball Emma and Killian went out into the surrounding town where people had hung flower buntings and colorful banners in their honor. Little children ran up to them offering crowns made of daisy chains, violets, and carnations.

Emma found herself kneeling more than once to be “crowned Queen” while Killian’s smile conveyed so much joy he looked like he might burst from it. She understood how he felt. As they walked down the cobbled streets stealing glances at each other, her own heart was filled to bursting knowing that she was the reason for his happiness.

*****

The next evening, celebrations over and reluctant to part, they found themselves ensconced in the family sitting room much like the night after she first arrived. With many of the nobles having left back to their estates, the couple was thankfully relieved of their heightened and strict hosting duties.

Killian poured them both a small brandy handing Emma her glass before joining her on the settee. Taking only a small sip in thanks, she placed the drink upon the low table and curled up against Killian’s side instead, his arms coming to wrap snugly around her. Though winter was a mere memory, a fire burned in the grate chasing away the chill of stone walls yet, it seemed to do so almost lazily, reflecting the atmosphere of contentment as she nuzzled his shoulder.

“Now all that’s left is to get married,” Emma said. Killian hmmed into her hair.

“What about a summer wedding?”

“So long?” Emma craned her neck to see his face, not wanting to move. Her genuine—and obvious displeasure—at waiting even a few months caused her love to smile widely.

“I thought to give time for any of your family to travel, if they wish, and return long before the mountains get snow again,” Killian said, drawing his fingers through her hair soothingly. His answer caught her off guard at its thoughtfulness which, she thought, really such consideration from her love should not surprise her anymore. Still, knowing the unlikelihood of her family being able to make it, this was not a totally convincing argument.

“Thank you.” She lowered her face, rubbing her forehead against the scruff just below his ear, and flicking her nose against it before speaking into his neck. “But it still means waiting months.”

Killian cleared his throat and Emma flicked her gaze up to see the tips of his ears turning red. Of all the wonderful things that had occurred these past weeks, simply getting to be close to Killian like this was one of her favorites.

“Well, I still need to plan our wedding trip and the Kingdom could use the time to properly prepare as well. We’ve not had a royal wedding for close to sixty years and the last real celebration to speak of was Liam’s coronation.”

“Liam’s? What of yours?” The hand in her hair paused, but only briefly, starting up again before he spoke.

“Mine was a rather subdued affair. I actually tried to avoid the whole thing but,” he shrugged with the shoulder she wasn’t leaning on. “My brother’s coronation had only been a few years before, that coupled with the tragic passing of such a young monarch and my own grief, it wasn’t hard to get away with the bare minimum.”

She reached to cover his free hand, giving it a squeeze.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Yes.” He gave a little huff and she felt his demeanor change. “But thankfully such sad times are in the past.” Emma closed her eyes as his lips pressed against her forehead in a kiss. “So what do you say, will summer do?

“As long as it’s not the _height_ of summer. I don’t know about here but I’ve been to places where it gets ghastly hot, plus, turns so dry and brown. This is the start of our new life together, it should be green and lovely and thriving.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll find it brown here, but it can get quite warm, so how about the third or fourth week, just after the solstice,” Killian said with a soft smile and eyes danced as they looked into hers. “It will be lush and green but not too hot, it should give enough time for your family to get here if they can and for the castle to plan and prepare, then for our wedding trip we can escape somewhere refreshing for the hottest months. Does that suit you?”

“Perfectly,” She said with a happy sigh.

“Good,” He kissed her forehead again, brushing his lips back and forth against her skin. “I find I have never looked forward to anything more.”

“Neither have I.” With a soft smile she tilted her face upward once more as his lips traveled down over her brow and cheek before hovering over her mouth. “I do have one request to make though.” His words were whispers against her lips making it hard for Emma to concentrate on them.

“What?” She asked, breathless. His eyebrow crooked up devilishly and he pulled back a fraction to smirk.

“Somehow, we have to incorporate swans.” At this Emma burst into laughter which was quickly silenced with a kiss.

*****

So Emma penned yet another letter to her family, only days after the first, and the wedding planning began in earnest. It was not necessarily intentional on her part. The princess had been playing around with ideas and occasionally voicing one of the more ridiculous notions to Opal or Killian for their reaction, but within a week of the announcement of the date, no matter where Emma went she was besieged by some staff or courtier who needed an answer from her.

The kitchen needed to know what kind of menu, how many courses, the flavor of cake. The housekeepers needed to know the colors for linens and which china she preferred and how many guest rooms might be needed. The gardeners and caretakers asked after the flowers and if any part of the grounds should be used for the wedding. On and on it went.

Then there was the parade to think of. Would they ride in a carriage or on horseback? Would there be a ball or a dinner reception or both? And of course hours were spent discussing and designing her dress. It might not have been nearly so bad if every question didn’t also come with a suggestion or unsolicited input of the other's opinion. This was mostly true of the courtiers, but even some of the staff couldn’t help their comments of “well traditionally. . .” or “for the last wedding”.

Yet, slowly it came together and Emma remained sane thanks to her private moments with Killian. Opal was to thank for most of these as, now that they were engaged and a wedding date was on the horizon, people seemed to care and find it shocking if she and Killian were caught alone together. It was a laughable farce but, with her lady-in-waiting’s help, they kept the appearance of propriety without compromising their time together.

Both her friend and her love also helped greatly with the decision making, knowing when to joke and when to remind her that the difference between ivory or pearl white linens was not the world ending decision the head housekeeper insisted it was.

She also found herself escaping to the stables or barracks more often than she would have to train or ride, simply to get away from it all for a while. The king was especially good at whisking her away for a surprise picnic or a scandalous swim in the winter garden’s pond that—even though they were both clothed—left Emma feeling warm all over and anxious to be married already.

It was six weeks before her parent’s reply arrived. It had definitely been penned before they received her second letter as they inquired—between subtle prodding questions as to the development of her romance—when the wedding would be. Killian received a letter as well, which he read with chagrin. She surmised from the penmanship it was from her father, and when she asked what it said he balked, only revealing what she already knew; that it was from his future father-in-law.

She let it be. It must be awkward all around for two men of such similar age to suddenly be relating to each other in this new way and having always been close with her father, she imagined he must be reeling from shock. Yet, it could have been worse. She could have married any number of unknown royals in the past three years, at least her parents knew Killian personally and could be certain he was a good _man_ , not just a good king.

After those letters, she expected the response to her second letter to arrive shortly but none came. Perhaps it had taken longer to get there or had gone astray. Emma didn't know the reason behind the lack of response but she was certain they would not be coming to the wedding if they did not know the date. She wrote once more telling them of the planning and when the event would occur, knowing that by the time it arrived it would be far too late for them to make it. Killian seemed saddened on her behalf but she reminded him that she came to Glowerhaven with the full understanding that she would be married without her family present. The only difference was that she was actually looking forward to the prospect.

So, it was with great surprise that a full month before their wedding day and with no prior word, a herald arrived to announce a royal party drawing near to the palace. The court assembled outside much as it had for her own arrival seven months before. How everything had changed. Emma could still remember the warmth of Killian's welcome and how even then she'd thought his eyes the bluest she'd ever seen. She internally snorted at how she'd been dreading meeting her betrothed only for him to be absent.

Now she stood beside the king as _his_ betrothed as the procession entered the gates headed by two dearly familiar blonde figures upon a large dappled stallion. The blonde man looked more grey since last she saw him and as they stopped and dismounted, Emma thought she might hardly have recognized the small boy who was being helped down.

"Emma," King David said, turning to greet her with fondness as her brother clung shyly to his leg. Leaving the comfort of Killian's side Emma stepped forward into her father's arms, happy tears caught in her throat.

"Hello, Papa."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest sincerest apologies for taking so long. I've been trying to work on my other WIP and plotting out a new CaptainSwan fic while also struggling with what this chapter even was supposed to be! It's been a month and I'm heartily ashamed of myself. Anyway more about the upcoming fic later and thank you all again for sticking with this for so long!


End file.
